FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


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THE  L    ^ 

HARP  AND  THE  CROSS: 


COLLECTION  OF  RELIGIOUS  POETRY.. 


COMEILED    EY 


STEPHEN    G.   BULFmCH. 


"  Spirit  of  God  !  whose  glory  once  o'erhung 

A  throne,  the  ark's  dread  cherubim  between, 

So  let  thy  presence  brood,  though  now  unseen, 

O'er  those  two  powers  by  whom  the  harp  is  strung, 

Feeling  and  Thought !  —  tdl  the  rekindled  chords 

Give  the  long-buried  tone  back  to  immortal  wurrii 

Hemaxs. 


ice  : 


BOSTON: 

IRICAN    UNITARIAN    ASSOCIATION, 
Bmmulp  Street. 
1857 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S57,  by 

THE   AMERICAN    UNITARIAN   ASSOCIATION, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE  : 
ELECTROTYPED   AND  PRINTED   BY  METCALF  AND   COMPANY. 


NOTICE. 


In  preparing  this  collection  of  religious  po- 
etry, the  attempt  has  been  made  to  meet  the 
various  occasions  which  suggest  devout  thought. 
The  compiler  has  found  pleasure  in  presenting 
specimens  from  writers  in  the  same  communion 
with  himself ;  but  piety  and  genius  have  been 
welcomed  from  every  source.  The  different  pro- 
ductions have  been  arranged  upon  a  general 
plan,  commencing  with  the  lessons  which  Na- 
ture teaches,  and  ascending  to  the  highest  an- 
ticipations of  Christian  faith. 

The  work,  undertaken  at  the  request  of  the 
Executive  Committee  of  the  American  Unita- 
rian Association,  has  been  adopted  as  one  of 
their  series  of  books  entitled  The  Devotional 
Library.  Four  volumes  in  this  series  are 
now   published,   to   wit  :  —  Vol.    I.    The    Altar 


IV  NOTICE. 

at  Home;  Vol.  II.  The  Christian  Doctrine  of 
Prayer,  by  Rev.  J.  F.  Clarke  ;  Vol.  III.  The 
Rod  and  the  Staff,  by  Rev.  T.  T.  Stone  ;  Vol. 
IV.  The  Harp  and  the  Cross,  by  Rev.  S.  G. 
Bulfinch. 


CONTEXTS 


PART    I. 


NATURE. 

Tage 

Morning  Hymn  of  a  Hermit     .    .    .    .  J.  Sterling 1 

Morning  Thoughts Mary  Howitt 4 

The  Wanderer's  Adoration      ....  Wordsworth 6 

A  Sabbath  Summer  Noon W.  Motherwell.   ...  7 

The  Use  of  Flowers Mary  Howitt.       ...  11 

The  Woodland  Sanctuary F.  D.  Huntington.    .    .  12 

Scene  after  a  Summer  Shower     .    .    .  A.  Norton 13 

The  Pastor's  Prayer  at  Sunset      .     .    .  Wordsworth 15 

Eventide J.  T.  Fields 20 

The  Evening  Hymn T.  Miller 20 

Evening  Song  of  the  Weary     ....  Mrs.  Hemans.     .    .    .  23 

The  Rising  Moon W.  B.  0.  Peabody.      .  24 

The  Light  of  Stars W  H  Furness.  ...  25 

The  Infinity  of  Space J.  Sterling 26 

Melodies  and  Mysteries C.  Macl-ay 2S 

Correspondences C.  P.  Cranch.     ...  20 

Niagara J.  G.  C  Brainard.  .     .  32 

The  Backwoodsman E.  Peabody 33 

Lines  written  at  Toccoa  Falls  .    .    .    .  S.  G.  Bulfinch.    ...  35 

Tongues       A.  D.  T.  W.  .    .    .    .  37 

The  Lilies  of  the  Field Agnes  Strickland.    .    .  30 

a* 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


PART    II. 


REVELATION  *.      THE    OLD    TESTAMENT. 


The  Bible B.  Barton 41 

Pledges  of  Mercy J.  Kelle 43 

Angelic  Visitants C.  Maclcay 46 

Song  of  the  Manna- Gatherers   ....    J".  Keble 47 

The  Burial  of  Moses Dublin  Univ.  Magazine.  51 

Ruth. A.  A.  Watts 54 

Naaman's  Servant J.  Keble 55 

The  Libation H.  Ware,  Jr 57 


PART    III. 


THE    GOSPEL. 


A  Christmas  Hymn A.  Domett 61 

The  Christmas  Bell P.P.  Rogers.      ...  63 

Danger  of  Praise J.  Keble 65 

Sonnet :"  Upon  the  mountain's  height  "  Sacred  Offering.      .    .  67 

Cana J.  F.  Clarice.      ...  68 

Sonnet:  "He  stood  within  the  Temple"  Sacred  Offering.      .    .  69 

The  Image  of  the  Earthy T.  H.  Gill.     ....  70 

Sonnet:  "Come  unto  me" Sacred  Offering.      .    .  71 

The  Saviour  in  the  Throng  of  Human 

Life J.  Sterling 72 

Sonnet :"  I  am  the  resurrection "      .    .  Sacred  Offering.      .    .  74 

Lazarus  and  Mary A.  Tennyson 75 

Comfort Mrs.  E.  B.  Browning.  77 

Communion  Hymn N.  L.  Frothingliam.      .  77 

The  Master S.  D.  Bobbins.    ...  78 

Hymn  to  Jesus S.  Judd. 80 

"  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless  "    .    .  Margaret  Fuller  Ossoli.  82 

Communion  Hymn N.  L.  Frothingliam.      .  85 

Hymn J.  Pierponi 86 

Christ  in  the  Garden J.  Keble 88 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

The  Two  Sayings Mrs.  E.  B.  Broicning.      91 

The  Saviour's  Dying  Hour Mrs.  ILmans.      .     .     .     02 

The  Crucifixion F.  K  Hedge 94 

'•  Darkness  shrouded  Calvary  "     .    .     .     S.  F.  Adams 9G 

Mary  by  the  Cross W.  J.  Fox 96 

Sonnet:  "  Stretched  on  the  cross"    .     .  Sacred  Offering.     .     .    97 

Looking  unto  Jesus Mrs.  Miles 9S 

Lines  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre     ....     Saiulys 99 

Mary  and  John,  before  the  Resurrection  S.  G.  Bulfinch.    .     .    .100 

Sonnet:  "  At  early  morn  " Sacred  Offering.     .    .  102 

The  Walk  to  Enimaus Cowper 103 

The  Ascension Faber 105 

The  Christian  Thrones W.  P.  Lunt 107 


PART     IV. 


MEDITATION,    PRAYER,  AND     PRAISE. 

Holy  Baptism J.  Keble Ill 

Baby  Carl Mrs.  S.  F.  Clqpp.    .    .113 

"West's  Picture  of  the  Infant  Samuel      .    E.  Peabody 115 

To  my  Guardian  Angel Faber 116 

Lines  to  D.  G.  T.  of  Sherwood  ...  Mrs.  Horsford.    .    .    .  117 

Written  in  a  Prayer-Book B.  Barton 119 

The  Soul R.  C  Waterston.    .     .  120 

The  Building  of  the  House C.  MacTcay 122 

New  Year's  Day W.  B.  O.  Peabody.     .  125 

On  New  Year's  Day Sacred  Offering.    .    .  12S 

Close  of  the  Year Ebenezer  Elliott.      .    .  128 

Churches  in  Boston O.  W.  Holmes.    .    .     .129 

Love,  Hope,  and  Faith S.  Judd. 133 

Bishop  Hubert B.  Barton 134 

The  Kingdom  of  God R.  C  Trench.    .    .    .136 

Hymn C.  H.  A.  Ball.     .     .     .138 

Exaggeration Mrs.  Broicning.       .    .  139 

The  Straight  Road Disciples'  Hymn-Book.  .  140 

Glory  to  God Madame  Guyon.      .     .140 

A  Meditation N.  L.  Frothingham.    .  141 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

The  Ocean C.  P.  Cranch. 

Sonnet ■:  "  Lord,  what  a  change  "  .    .    .  E.  C.  Trench. 

Nearer  to  Thee S.  F.  Adams. 

Desires  for  God's  Presence J.  Very.     .    . 

God  known  by  loving  him Madame  Guyon. 

Matins Mrs.  Stoice.    . 

God  the  Fountain  of  Love Madame  Guyon. 

"  Dark  the  faith  of  days  of  yore  "      .    .  Fox's  Collection. 

Hymn  of  the  City W.  C.  Bryant. 


.  142 
.  145 
.  146 
.  147 
.  148 
.  149 
.  150 
.  151 
.  152 


PART  V. 

ACTIVE      DUTY. 

On  for  Ever Mrs.  L.  J.  Hall.      .    .  154 

Beauty  and  Duty The  Dial. 156 

Progress T.  H.  Gill.      ....  156 

True  Rest J.  S.  Dwight 15S 

"  Arouse  thee,  Soul !  " R.  Nicoll 160 

The  Hours J.  Very 161 

The  Faithful  Monk C.  T.  Brooks.      .    .    .  162 

"  Not  to  myself  alone  " Sargent's  Selection.      .163 

Faith's  Answer Miss  C.  Whitmarsh.    .  166 

Earth's  Angels Anonymous 168 

"  It  profiteth  thee  nothing  " Disciples'1  Hymn-Bool:    170 

"  Beg  from  a  Beggar " R.  M.  Milnes.     .    .    .  172 

From  "  The  Men  of  Old " J.  G.  WUt&er.  .    .    .174 

Almsgiving R.  M.  Milnes.     .     .     .  175 

From  "  The  Golden  Legend  "   ....  IT.  W.  Longfellow.  .    .  177 

The  Secret  of  Piety "  Poetry  of  the  Fast."  .  181 

From  "  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal "  .    .  J.  R.  Lowell.  .    .    .    .  1S2 

A  Prayer  of  Affection Mrs.  Hemans.     .    .    .155 

"  He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him."  Mrs.  C.  Gilman.      .    .  1S7 

The  Young  Teachers       J.  Weiss 1S9 

Lines  on  leaving  Charleston      .    .    .    .    S.  Gilman 190 

The  Wan  Reapers Mrs.  F.  C.  Judson.  .    .191 

Henry  Martyn  at  Shiraz H.  Alford.      .    .    .    .193 


CONTENT-.  IX 


P  ART    V  I  . 

PENITENCE. 

De  Profundis  Clamavi C.  G.  Femur.     .    .     .198 

A  Litany 31.  Arnold 

The  Spreading  Speck "  Poetry  of the  E  _ 

Lines H.  Ware,  Jr.      .     .     .  2   1 

A  Supplication F.  D.  Huntington.    .     .   I 

A  Hymn 0.  W.  Withington.  .    .  207 

The  Shrine  and  the  Confessional  ...  C  G.  Fcnner.     .    .     .208 

Hymn  and  Prayer J.  F.  Clarice 21) 

A  Meditation C  J.  Fox 212 

H}-mn  in  Sickness //.  Ware,  Jr 214 

The  Pilgrim  at  Heaven's  Gate  ....  C.  G.  Fenner.     .    .    .  215 

The  Student Sacred  Offering.     .    .213 

Hymn J.  Boicring 22) 

The  Gate  of  Heaven Disciples'  Ugmn-BotL:  .  222 


PART    VII. 

TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

Action  and  Thought R.  31.  3Iilnes.     .    .     .  225 

From  "  The  Heavenly  Friend  "     .    .     .  B.Barton 22 

A  Remonstrance A.  A.  Watts 227 

Quiet  from  God Sacred  Offering.    .     .22 

Ballad  of  the  Tempest J.  T.  FUlls 

Written  in  Sickness J.  Q.  Adams 234 

"  A  little  bird  lam" Madame  Gnyon.  .... 

The  Alpine  Cross J.  T.  Fields 237 

Prisons  do  not  exclude  God Madame  Guyon.  .    .    .238 

De  Profundis TH  Croswell 240 

"Why  thus  longing?" Mis*  Wnshnc.     .     .     .240 

The  Poor  Child's  Hymn MaryHowitt 242 

Hope  is  better  than  Ease J.  Ktble 243 


X  CONTENTS. 

Lines 0.  W.  B.  Peabody.    .  245 

Consolations H.  Martineau.     .     .     .246 

Paraphrase  of  Psalm  xxii II.  K.  White.      .     .     .  248 

"To  whom  shall  we  go?" Mrs.  E.  L.  Fallen.  .    .249 

A  Prayer R.  M.  Milnes.     .    .    .250 

God  ruling  in  All A.  Tennyson 252 

A  Christmas  Carol C.  Kingsley 253 

The  Hope  of  Man T.  W.  Eigginson.    .    .  254 

Prayer R.  M.  Milnes.     .     .     .255 

Hymn W.  II.  Eurlburt  .     .     .256 

The  Dead  Church C.  Kingsley 257 

Hope,  Doubt,  and  Trust A.  Tennyson 258 

The  Millennium Conner 260 


PART    VIII. 

DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Songs  of  Being Sargent' 's  Selection.      .  263 

To  Night J.  Blanco  While.     .     .  266 

A  Walk  in  a  Churchyard R.  C.  Trench.    .    .    .  267 

The  Child  and  the  Mourners     .     .     .     .  C.  Mackay 269 

Lines  to  a  Mother J.  Q.  Adams 272 

To  a  Dying  Infant Mrs.  L.  H.  Sigourney.     275 

Little  Charlie II.  Alger,  Jr.      .    .    .276 

To  J.  S.      . ' WW.  Story.      .     .     .277 

Little  Herbert Mrs.  S.  F.  Clapp.    .     .  2S0 

The  Lent  Jewels R.  C  Trench.     .    .    .  2S2 

From  "  Isobel's  Child  " Mrs.  K  B.  Browning.    2 S3 

The  Infant  Spirit's  Prayer Anonymous 290 

Resignation H.  W.  Longfdlow.  .    .  292 

Lines  to  a  Bereaved  Parent Mrs.  M.  Lowell.  .    .    .  295 

Bereavement J.  Keble 297 

Death  of  the  New-Baptized J.  Keble 299 

On  the  Death  of  a  Beautiful  Girl  .    .    .  Mrs.  E.  L.  Fallen.   .    .  300 

On  the  Death  of  a  Young  Lady     .    .    .  S.  G.  Bulfinch.    .    .    .301 

The  Dying  Hebrew's  Prayer    ....  Anonymous 303 


CONTENTS.  XI 

The  Burial  at  Sea C.  Sprague 307 

Verses  Suggested  by  the  Decease  of  the 

Pwev.  Mr.  Wright  of  Boston     .    .    .  B.B.Thatcher.      .    .309 

To  my  Friend,  on  the  Death  of  his  Sister  J.  G.  Whlttier.  .    .     .310 

The  Two  Angels II.  W.  Longfellow.  .     .  312 

Follen J.  G.  Whit  fur.  .    .     .314 

Lines  on  Channing Mrs.  L.  J.  Hall.      .     .  313 

Death C.J.  Fox 320 

A  Death-Bed J.  Aldrich 321 

The  Martyrdom  of  Perpetua     ....  S.  G.  Bulfinch.    .     .    .322 

Sonnet :  1  Corinthians  xv G.  Lunt 324 

A  Funeral  Song Mrs.  Ilcmans.      .     .     .325 

The  Angel  by  the  Tomb S.  F.  Adams 327 

The  Pauper's  Death-Bed Mrs.  C.  B.  Southey.     .  32 S 

The  Presence  of  the  Departed  .    ...  II.  Withington.    .     .    .330 

'•  Call  them  from  the  dead  "      ....     W.J.  Fox 332 

"  It  is  told  me  I  must  die  " SargenVs  Selection.      .  333 

For  Comfort  in  Death Herrick 335 

Days  of  my  Youth St.  G.  Tucker.    .    .    .336 

Farewell  to  Life KOrner,  tr.  by  Fallen.  .  337 

A  Poet's  Dying  Hymn Mrs.  Uemans.      .     .     .338 

"  Living  or  dying,  Lord,  I  would  be  thine  "  From  Finilon.     .     .     .342 

On B.M.  MUncs.     .     .     .  343 

Fragment  found  in  a  Skeleton-Case  .    .    Anonymous 345 

Whitefield's  Remains Miu  H.  F.  Gould.   .    .  347 


PART  I. 

NATURE 


MORNING  HYMN   OF  A  HERMIT. 

JOHN*   STERLING. 

Sweet  Morn !  from  countless  cups  of  gold 

Thou  liftest  reverently  on  high 
More  incense  fine  than  earth  can  hold, 
To  fill  the  sky. 

One  interfusion  wide  of  love, 

Thine  airs  and  odors  moist  ascend, 
And,  'mid  the  azure  depths  above. 
With  light  they  blend. 

The  lark,  by  his  own  carol  blest, 

From  the  green  harbors  eager  springs ; 
And  his  large  heart  in  little  breast 
Exulting  sings. 


NATURE. 


On  lands  and  seas,  on  fields  and  woods, 
And  cottage  roofs  and  ancient  spires, 
O  Morn !  thy  gaze  creative  broods, 


While  Night  retires. 


Aloft,  the  mountain  ridges  beam 

Above  their  quiet  steeps  of  gray  ; 
The  eastern  clouds  with  glory  stream. 
And  vital  day. 

By  valleys  dank,  and  river's  brim, 

Through  corn-clad  fields  and  wizard  groves, 
O'er  dazzling  tracks  and  hollows  dim, 
One  spirit  roves. 

The  broad-helmed  oak-tree's  endless  growth, 

The  mossy  stone  that  crowns  the  hill, 
The  violet's  breast,  to  gazers  loath, 
In  sunshine  thrill. 

A  joy  from  hidden  paradise 

Is  rippling  down  the  shiny  brooks, 
With  beauty  like  the  gleams  of  eyes 
In  tenderest  looks. 


Where'er  the  vision's  boundaries  glance, 
Existence  swells  with  teeming  power, 
And  all  illumined  earth's  expanse 
Inhales  the  hour. 


MORNING    HYMN    OF    A    HERMIT. 

Not  sands,  and  rocks,  and  seas  immense, 

And  vapors  thin,  and  halls  of  air,  — 
Not  these  alone,  with  kindred  glance, 
The  splendor  share. 

The  fly  his  jocund  round  inweaves, 

With  choral  strain  the  birds  salute 
The  voiceful  flocks,  and  nothing  grieves, 
And  naught  is  mute. 

In  Man,  O  Morn !  a  loftier  good, 

With  conscious  blessing,  fills  the  soul, 
A  life  by  reason  understood, 

Which  metes  the  whole. 

With  healthful  pulse,  and  tranquil  fire, 

Which  plays  at  ease  in  every  limb, 
His  thoughts  unchecked  to  heaven  aspire, 
Revealed  in  him. 

To  thousand  tasks  of  fruitful  hope, 

With  skill  against  his  toil  he  bends, 
And  finds  his  work's  determined  scope 
Where'er  he  wends. 

From  earth,  and  earthly  toil  and  strife, 
To  deathless  aims  his  love  may  rise ; 
Each  dawn  may  wake  to  better  life, 
With  purer  eyes. 


NATURE. 

Such  grace  from  thee,  O  God !  be  ours, 

Renewed  with  every  morning's  ray, 
And  freshening  still  with  added  flowers 
Each  future  day. 

To  Man  is  given  one  primal  star ; 

One  day-spring's  beam  has  dawned  below 
From  Thine  our  inmost  glories  are, 
With  Thine  we  glow. 

Like  earth,  awake,  and  warm  and  bright 
With  joy,  the  spirit  moves  and  burns ; 
So  up  to  thee,  O  Fount  of  Light ! 
Our  light  returns. 


MORXIXG  THOUGHTS. 


MARY   IIOWITT. 


The  summer  sun  is  shining 

Upon  a  world  so  bright ! 
The  dew  upon  each  grassy  blade, 
The  golden  light,  the  depth  of  shade, 
All  seem  as  they  were  only  made 

To  minister  delight. 


MORNING    THOUGHTS.  « 

From  giant  trees,  strong  branched, 

And  all  their  veiny  leaves, 
From  little  birds  that  madly  sing, 
From  insects  fluttering  on  the  wing, 
Ay,  from  the  very  meanest  thing, 

My  spirit  joy  receives. 

I  think  of  angel  voices 

When  the  birds'  songs  I  hear ; 
Of  that  celestial  city,  bright 
With  jacinth,  gold,  and  chrysolite, 
When  with  its  blazing  pomp  of  light 
The  morning  doth  appear. 

I  think  of  that  great  river 

That  from  the  throne  flows  free, 

Of  weary  pilgrims  on  its  brink, 

Who,  thirsting,  have  come  down  to  drink ; 

Of  that  unfailing  stream  I  think 
When  earthly  streams  I  see. 

I  think  of  pain  and  dying, 

As  that  which  is  but  naught, 
When  glorious  morning,  warm  and  bright, 
With  all  its  voices  of  delight, 
From  the  chill  darkness  of  the  night, 

Like  a  new  life,  is  brought, 
l* 


NATURE. 

I  think  of  human  sorrow 
But  as  of  clouds  that  brood 

Upon  the  bosom  of  the  day, 

And  the  next  moment  pass  away ; 

And  with  a  trusting  heart  I  say, 
Thank  God,  all  things  are  good  ! 


THE  WANDERER'S  ADORATION. 

FROM  "THE  EXCURSION."  —  WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 

How  beautiful  this  dome  of  sky, 
And  the  vast  hills  in  fluctuation  fixed 
At  Thy  command,  how  awful !     Shall  the  Soul, 
Human  and  rational,  report  of  Thee 
Even  less  than  these?    Be  mute  who  will,  who  can, 
Yet  I  will  praise  Thee  with  impassioned  voice : 
My  lips,  that  may  forget  Thee  in  the  crowd, 
Cannot  forget  Thee  here ;  where  Thou  hast  built, 
For  thy  own  glory,  in  the  wilderness  ! 
Me  didst  Thou  constitute  a  priest  of  thine, 
In  such  a  temple  as  we  now  behold 
Reared  for  thy  presence  :  therefore  am  I  bound 
To  worship,  here  and  everywhere,  as  one 
Not  doomed  to  ignorance,  though  forced  to  tread, 
From  childhood  up,  the  ways  of  poverty  ; 
From  unreflecting  ignorance  preserved, 


A    SABBATH    SUMMER    NOON.  7 

And  from  debasement  rescued.     By  Thy  grace 
The  particle  divine  remained  unquenched ; 
And,  'mid  the  wild  weeds  of  a  rugged  soil, 
Thy  bounty  caused  to  flourish  deathless  flowers, 
From  Paradise  transplanted  :  wintry  age 
Impends  ;  the  frost  will  gather  round  my  heart ; 
If  the  flowers  wither,  I  am  worse  than  dead ! 
Come,  Labor,  when  the  worn-out  frame  requires 
Perpetual  sabbath  ;  come,  disease  and  want ; 
And  sad  exclusion  through  decay  of  sense  ; 
But  leave  me  unabated  trust  in  Thee,  — 
And  let  thy  favor,  to  the  end  of  life, 
Inspire  me  with  ability  to  seek 
Repose  and  hope  among  eternal  things,  — 
Father  of  heaven  and  earth !  and  I  am  rich, 
And  will  possess  my  portion  in  content. 


A  SABBATH   SUMMER  NOON. 

AN   EXTRACT. 
WILLIAM   MOTHERWELL. 

The  calmness  of  this  noontide  hour, 

The  shadow  of  this  wood, 
The  fragrance  of  each  wilding  flower, 

Are  marvellously  good ; 
O,  here  crazed  spirits  breathe  the  balm 

Of  nature's  solitude ! 


NATURE. 

It  is  a  most  delicious  calm 

That  resteth  everywhere,  — 
The  holiness  of  soul-sung  psalm, 

Of  felt  but  voiceless  prayer ! 
With  hearts  too  full  to  speak  their  bliss, 

God's  creatures  silent  are. 

They  silent  are  ;  but  not  the  less, 

In  this  most  tranquil  hour 
Of  deep  unbroken  dreaminess, 

They  own  that  Love  and  Power 
Which,  like  the  softest  sunshine,  rests 

On  every  leaf  and  flower. 

How  silent  are  the  song-filled  nests 
That  crowd  this  drowsy  tree ! 

How  mute  is  every  feathered  breast 
That  swelled  with  melody ! 

And  yet  bright,  bead-like  eyes  declare 
This  hour  is  ecstasy. 

Heart  forth  !  as  uncaged  bird  through  air, 

And  mingle  in  the  tide 
Of  blessed  things,  that,  lacking  care, 

Now  full  of  beauty  glide 
Around  thee,  in  their  angel  hues 

Of  joy  and  sinless  pride. 

Here,  on  this  green  bank  that  o'erviews 
The  far-retreating  glen. 


A    BABBATH    BUMMER    NOON.  \) 

Beneath  the  spreading  beech-tree  mn 

On  all  within  thy  ken  ; 
For  lovelier  scene  shall  never  break 
On  thy  dimmed  sight  again. 

Slow  stealing  through  the  tangled  brake 

That  skirts  the  distant  hill, 
With  noiseless  hoof  two  bright  fawns  make 

For  yonder  lapsing  rill ; 
Meek  children  of  the  forest  gloom, 

Drink  on,  and  fear  no  ill! 

•  •  •  •  • 

I  bend  me  towards  the  tiny  flower, 

That  underneath  this  tree 
Opens  its  little  breast  of  sweets 

In  meekest  modesty, 
And  breathes  the  eloquence  of  love, 

In  muteness,  Lord !  to  thee. 

Far  down  the  glen  in  distance  gleams 

The  hamlet's  tapering  spire, 
And  glittering  in  meridial  beams, 

Its  vane  is  tongued  with  fire  ; 
And  hark  how  sweet  its  silvery  bell, 

And  hark  the  rustic  choir  ! 

The  holy  sounds  float  up  the  dell 

To  fill  my  ravished  ear, 
And  now  the  glorious  anthems  swell 

Of  worshippers  sincere, — 


10  NATURE. 

Of  hearts  bowed  in  the  dust,  that  shed 
Faith's  penitential  tear. 

•Dear  Lord !  thy  shadow  is  forth  spread 

On  all  mine  eye  can  see ; 
And,  filled  at  the  pure  fountain-head 

Of  deepest  piety, 
My  heart  loves  all  created  things, 

And  travels  home  to  thee. 

Around  me  while  the  sunshine  flings 

A  flood  of  mocky  gold, 
My  chastened  spirit  once  more  sings, 

As  it  was  wont  of  old, 
That  lay  of  gratitude  which  burst 

From  young  heart  uncontrolled, 

"When,  in  the  midst  of  nature  nursed, 

Sweet  influences  fell 
On  childly  hearts  that  were  athirst, 

Like  soft  dews  in  the  bell 
Of  tender  flowers,  that  bowed  their  heads, 

And  breathed  a  fresher  smell. 

So,  even  now  this  hour  hath  sped 
In  rapturous  thought  o'er  me, 

Feeling  myself  with  nature  wed,  — 
A  holy  mystery,  — 

A  part  of  earth,  a  part  of  heaven, 
A  part,  great  God !  of  thee. 


THE    USE    OF    FLOWERS.  11 


THE  USE   OF   FLOWERS. 

MARY   HOWITT. 

God  might  have  made  the  earth  bring  forth 

Enough  for  great  and  small, 
The  oak-tree  and  the  cedar-tree, 

"Without  a  flower  at  all. 

We  might  have  had  enough,  enough 

For  every  want  of  ours, 
For  luxury,  medicine,  and  toil, 

And  yet  have  had  no  flowers. 

The  ore  within  the  mountain  mine 

Requireth  none  to  grow ; 
Nor  doth  it  need  the  lotus-flower 

To  make  the  river  flow. 

The  clouds  might  give  abundant  rain, 

The  nightly  dews  might  fall, 
And  the  herb  that  keepeth  life  in  man, 

Might  yet  have  drunk  them  all. 

Then  wTherefore,  wherefore  were  they  made, 

All  dyed  with  rainbow  light, 
All  fashioned  with  supremest  grace 

Upspringing  day  and  night,  — 


12  NATURE. 

Springing  in  valleys  green  and  low, 
And  on  the  mountains  high, 

And  in  the  silent  wilderness 
Where  no  man  passes  by  ? 

Our  outward  life  requires  them  not ; 

Then  wherefore  had  they  birth  ?  — 
To  minister  delight  to  man, 

To  beautify  the  earth. 

To  comfort  man,  —  to  whisper  hope 
Whene'er  his  faith  is  dim  ; 

For  who  so  careth  for  the  flowers 
Will  much  more  care  for  him ! 


THE  WOODLAND   SANCTUARY. 


F.    D.    HUXTIXGTOX. 


O  Thou,  that  once  on  Horeb  stood 
Revealed  within  the  burning  tree, 
To-day,  as  well,  in  each  green  wood, 

Be  seen  by  hearts  that  yearn  for  thee. 
Each  shining  leaf  is  bright  with  God, 
Each  bough  a  prophet's  "  budding  rod," 
Each  by  thy  flaming  sun  illumed, 
Yet  each,  like  Horeb's,  unconsumed. 


SCENE    AFTER    A    SUMMER    SHOWER.  13 

O  Thou,  whose  hand  poured  Jordan's  stream, 
Whose  angel-dove  hung  o'er  its  wave, 

To  hallow  with  a  heavenly  gleam 

The  Son  whose  love  a  world  would  save  ! 

Brin^  from  the  waters  at  our  side 

Some  whisper,  gentle  as  their  tide, 

Saying,  like  Christ  on  Galilee,  — 

That  holier  lake,  —  Peace,  peace  to  thee  ! 

We  pray,  O  Lord,  who  touched  the  mount,  — 
We  pray  through  Him  who  stilled  the  sea, — 

May  every  outward  sight  a  fount 
Of  inward  life  and  courage  be. 

The  radiant  bush,  the  white-winged  dove, 

The  fire  of  faith,  the  peace  of  love, 

Uplift  our  souls,  and  urge  them  on 

To  take  the  cross,  to  wear  the  crown. 


SCENE  AFTER  A  SUMMER  SHOWER. 


ANDREWS      XORTOX. 


The  rain  is  o'er.     How  dense  and  bright 
Yon  pearly  clouds  reposing  lie, — 

Cloud  above  cloud,  a  glorious  sight, 
Contrasting  with  the  dark  blue  sky ! 


14  NATURE. 

In  grateful  silence,  earth  receives 

The  general  blessing ;  fresh  and  fair, 

Each  flower  expands  its  little  leaves, 
As  glad  the  common  joy  to  share. 

The  softened  sunbeams  pour  around 

A  fairy  light,  uncertain,  pale ; 
The  wind  flows  cool ;  the  scented  ground 

Is  breathing  odors  on  the  gale. 

'Mid  yon  rich  cloud's  voluptuous  pile, 
Methinks  some  spirit  of  the  air 

Might  rest,  to  gaze  below  awhile, 
Then  turn  to  bathe  and  revel  there. 

The  sun  breaks  forth  ;  from  off  the  scene 
Its  floating  veil  of  mist  is  flung  ; 

And  all  the  wilderness  of  green 

With  trembling  drops  of  light  is  hung. 

Now  gaze  on  Nature,  —  yet  the  same, 
Glowing  with  life,  by  breezes  fanned, 

Luxuriant,  lovely,  as  she  came, 

Fresh  in  her  youth,  from  God's  own  hand. 

Hear  the  rich  music  of  that  voice 
Which  sounds  from  all  below,  above 

She  calls  her  children  to  rejoice, 

And  round  them  throws  her  arms  of  love. 


THE  PASTOR'S  PRAYER  AT  SUNSET.      15 

Drink  in  her  influence  ;  low-born  care, 
And  all  the  train  of  mean  desire, 

Refuse  to  breathe  this  holy  air, 
And  'mid  this  living  light  expire. 


THE  PASTOR'S  PRAYER  AT  SUNSET. 

FROM   "THE   EXCURSION."' — WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 

"Eternal  Spirit!  universal  God! 
Power  inaccessible  to  human  thought, 
Save  by  degrees   and  steps   which   Thou   hast 

deigned 
To  furnish  ;  for  this  effluence  of  thyself, 
To  the  infirmity  of  mortal  sense 
Vouchsafed,  —  this  local  transitory  type 
Of  thy  paternal  splendors,  and  the  pomp 
Of  those  who  fill  thy  courts  in  highest  heaven, 
The  radiant  Cherubim,  —  accept  the  thanks 
Which    we,   thy    humble    creatures,    here    con- 
vened, 
Presume  to  offer  ;  we,  who,  from  the  breast 
Of  the  frail  earth  permitted  to  behold 
The  faint  reflections  only  of  thy  face, 
Are  yet  exalted,  and  in  soul  adore ! 
Such  as  they  are  who  in  thy  presence  stand 


16  NATURE. 

Unsullied,  incorruptible,  and  drink 
Imperishable  majesty  streamed  forth 
From  thy  empyreal  throne,  the  elect  of  earth 
Shall  be,  —  divested  at  the  appointed  hour 
Of  all  dishonor,  cleansed  from  mortal  stain. 

—  Accomplish,  then,  then*  number  ;  and  conclude 
Time's  weary  course !     Or  if,  by  thy  decree, 
The  consummation  that  will  come  by  stealth 
Be  yet  far  distant,  let  thy  Word  prevail,  — 

Oh  !  let  thy  Word  prevail,  to  take  away 
The  sting  of  human  nature.     Spread  the  Law, 
As  it  is  written  in  thy  holy  Book, 
Throughout  all  lands  :  let  every  nation  hear 
The  high  behest,  and  every  heart  obey  ; 
Both  for  the  love  of  purity,  and  hope 
Which  it  affords,  to  such  as  do  thy  will 
And  persevere  in  good,  that  they  shall  rise, 
To  have  a  nearer  view  of  Thee,  in  heaven. 

—  Father  of  Good  !  this  prayer  in  bounty  grant, 
In  mercy  grant  it  to  thy  wretched  sons. 

Then,  nor  till  then,  shall  persecution  cease, 
And  cruel  wars  expire.     The  way  is  marked, 
The  Guide  appointed,  and  the  ransom  paid. 
Alas  !  the  nations  who  of  yore  received 
These  tidings,  and  in  Christian  temples  meet 
The  sacred  truth  to  acknowledge,  linger  still ; 
Preferring  bonds  and  darkness  to  a  state 
Of  holy  freedom,  by  redeeming  love 
Proffered  to  all,  while  yet  on  earth  detained. 


THE    PASTOR'S    PRAYER    AT    SUNSET.  17 

u  Once,"  and  with  mild  demeanor,  as  he  spake, 
On  us  the  venerable  Pastor  turned 
His  beaming  eye  that  had  been  raised  to  Heav- 
en,— 
"  Once,  while  the  name  Jehovah  was  a  sound 
Within  the  circuit  of  this  sea-girt  isle 
Unheard,  the  savage  nations  bowed  the  head 
To  gods  delighting  in  remorseless  deeds ; 
Gods   which  themselves  had  fashioned,  to  pro- 
mote 
111  purposes,  and  flatter  foul  desires. 
Then,  in  the  bosom  of  yon  mountain  cove 
To  those  inventions  of  corrupted  man 
Mysterious  rites  were  solemnized  ;  and  there, 
Amid  impending  rocks  and  gloomy  woods, 
Of  those  terrific  Idols  some  received 
Such  dismal  service,  that  the  loudest  voice 
Of  the  Bwoln  cataracts  (which  now  are  heard 
Soft  murmuring)  was  too  weak  to  overcome, 
Though  aided   by  wild  winds,  the   groans   and 

shrieks 
Of  human  victims,  offered  up  to  appease 
Or  to  propitiate.     And,  if  living  eyes 
Had  visionary  faculties  to  see 
The  thing  that  hath  been  as  the  thing  that  is, 
Aghast  we  might  behold  this  crystal  Mere 
Bedimmed  with  smoke,  in  wreaths  voluminous, 
Flung  from  the  body  of  devouring  fires, 
To  Taranis  erected  on  the  heights 

2* 


18  NATURE. 

By  priestly  hands,  for  sacrifice  performed 

Exulting]  y,  in  view  of  open  day 

And  full  assemblage  of  a  barbarous  host ; 

Or  to  Andates,  female  Power !  who  gave 

(For  so  they  fancied)  glorious  victory. 

—  A  few  rude  monuments  of  mountain  stone 

Survive  ;  all  else  is  swept  away.  —  How  bright 

The  appearances  of  things !     From  such,  how 

changed 
The  existing  worship ;  and  with  those  compared, 
The  worshippers  how  innocent  and  blest ! 
So  wide  the  difference,  a  willing  mind, 
At  this  affecting  hour,  might  almost  think 
That  Paradise,  the  lost  abode  of  man, 
Was  raised  again  ;  and  to  a  happy  few, 
In  its  original  beauty,  here  restored. 

"Whence  but  from  Thee,  the  true  and  only  God, 
And  from  the  faith  derived  through  Him  who  bled 
Upon  the  Cross,  this  marvellous  advance 
Of  good  from  evil  ?  as  if  one  extreme 
Were  left,  the  other  gained.  —  O  ye,  who  come 
To  kneel  devoutly  in  yon  reverend  Pile, 
Called  to  such  office  by  the  peaceful  sound 
Of  Sabbath  bells  ;  and  ye,  who  sleep  in  earth, 
All  cares  forgotten,  round  its  hallowed  walls  ! 
For  you,  in  presence  of  this  little  band 
Gathered  together  on  the  green  hill-side, 
Your  Pastor  is  emboldened  to  prefer 


THE  PASTORS  PRAYER  AT  BUN8ET,      19 

Vocal  thanksgivings  to  the  Eternal  King ; 
Whose  love,  whose  counsel,  whose  commands, 

have  made 
Your  very  poorest  rich  in  peace  of  thought 
And  in  good  works  ;  and  him  who  is  endowed 
With  scantiest  knowledge,  master  of  all  truth 
Which  the  salvation  of  his  soul  requires. 
Conscious  of  that  abundant  favor  showered 
On  you,  the  children  of  my  humble  care, 
And  this  dear  land,  our  country  while  on  earth 
We  sojourn,  have  I  lifted  up  my  soul, 
Joy  giving  voice  to  fervent  gratitude. 
These  barren  rocks,  your  stern  inheritance ; 
These  fertile  fields,  that  recompense  your  pains ; 
The  shadowy  vale,  the  sunny  mountain  top  ; 
Woods  waving  in  the  wind  their  lofty  heads, 
Or  hushed  ;  the  roaring  waters,  and  the  still;  — 
They  see  the  offering  of  my  lifted  hands, 
They  hear  my  lips  present  their  sacrifice, 
They  know  if  I  be  silent,  morn  or  even  : 
For,  though  in  whispers  speaking,  the  full  heart 
Will  find  a  vent ;  and  thought  is  praise  to  Him, 
Audible  praise  to  Thee,  Omniscient  Mind, 
From   whom    all    gifts   descend,   all    blessings 

flow ! " 


20  NATURE. 

EVENTIDE. 

WRITTEN   IN    THE    COUNTRY. 

J.    T.    FIELDS. 

This  cottage  door,  this  gentle  gale, 

Hay-scented,  whispering  round, 
Yon  path-side  rose,  that  down  the  vale 
Breathes  incense  from  the  ground, 

Methinks  should  from  the  dullest  clod 
Invite  a  thankful  heart  to  God. 

But,  Lord,  the  violet,  bending  low, 

Seems  better  moved  to  praise  ; 
From  us,  what  scanty  blessings  flow, 
How  voiceless  close  our  days ! 

Father,  forgive  us,  and  the  flowers 
Shall  lead  in  prayer  the  vesper  hours. 


THE  EVENING  HYMN. 


THOMAS  MILLER. 


How  many  days,  with  mute  adieu, 
Have  gone  down  yon  untrodden  sky ! 

And  still  it  looks  as  clear  and  blue 
As  when  it  first  was  hung  on  high. 


THE    EVENING    HYMN.  21 

The  rolling  sun,  the  frowning  cloud 
That  drew  the  lightning  in  its  rear, 

The  thunder,  tramping  deep  and  loud, 
Have  left  no  footmark  there. 

The  village  bells,  with  silver  chime, 

Come  softened  by  the  distant  shore ; 
Though  I  have  heard  them  many  a  time, 

They  never  rung  so  sweet  before. 
A  silence  rests  upon  the  hill, 

A  listening  awe  pervades  the  air ; 
The  very  flowers  are  shut,  and  still, 

And  bowed  as  if  in  prayer. 

And  in  this  hushed  and  breathless  close, 

O'er  earth,  and  air,  and  sky,  and  sea, 
That  still  low  voice  in  silence  goes, 

Which  speaks  alone,  great  God,  of  Thee. 
The  whispering  leaves,  the  far-off  brook, 

The  linnet's  warble  fainter  grown, 
The  hive-bound  bee,  the  lonely  rook,  — 

All  these  their  Maker  own. 

Now  shine  the  starry  hosts  of  light, 
Gazing  on  earth  with  golden  eyes ; 

Bright  guardians  of  the  blue-browed  night, 
What  are  ye  in  your  native  skies  ? 

I  know  not!  neither  can  I  know, 
Nor  on  what  leader  ve  attend, 


22  NATURE. 

Nor  whence  ye  came,  nor  whither  go, 
Nor  what  your  aim,  or  end. 

I  know  they  must  be  holy  things, 

That  from  a  room  so  sacred  shine, 
Where  sounds  the  beat  of  angel-wings, 

And  footsteps  echo  all  divine. 
Their  mysteries  I  never  sought, 

Nor  hearkened  to  what  science  tells ; 
For,  oh !  in  childhood  I  was  taught 

That  God  amidst  them  dwells. 

The  darkening  woods,  the  fading  trees, 

The  grasshopper's  last  feeble  sound, 
The  flower  just  wakened  by  the  breeze, 

All  leave  the  stillness  more  profound. 
The  twilight  takes  a  deeper  shade, 

The  dusky  path-ways  blacker  grow, 
And  silence  reigns  in  glen  and  glade, — 

All,  all  is  mute  below. 

And  other  eves  as  sweet  as  this 

Will  close  upon  as  calm  a  day, 
And,  sinking  down  the  deep  abyss, 

Will,  like  the  last,  be  swept  away ; 
Until  Eternity  is  gained, 

That  boundless  sea  without  a  shore, 
That  without  Time  for  ever  reigned, 

And  will  when  Time  's  no  more. 


EVENING    SONG    OF    THE    WEARY.  23 

Now  nature  sinks  in  soft  repose, 

A  living  semblance  of  the  grave  ; 
The  dew  steals  noiseless  on  the  rose, 

The  boughs  have  almost  ceased  to  wave ; 
The  silent  sky,  the  sleeping  earth, 

Tree,  mountain  stream,  the  humble  sod, 
All  tell  from  whom  they  had  their  birth, 

And  cry,  "  Behold  a  God!" 


EVENING   SONG   OF   THE  WEARY. 


MBS.   IIEMAXS. 


Father  of  Heaven  and  Earth! 

I  bless  thee  for  the  night, 

The  soft,  still  night ! 
The  holy  pause  of  care  and  mirth, 


Of  sound  and  light! 


Now  far  in  glade  and  dell, 

Flower-cup,  and  bud,  and  bell 
Have  shut  around  the  sleeping  woodlark's  nest; 

The  bee's  long  murmuring  toils  are  done, 

And  I,  the  o'er  wearied  one, 

O'erwearied  and  o'erwrought, 
Bless  thee,  O  God,  O  Father  of  the  oppressed, 

With  my  last  waking  thought, 
In  the  still  night ! 


24  NATURE. 

Yes,  ere  I  sink  to  rest, 
By  the  fire's  dying  light, 
Thou  Lord  of  Earth  and  Heaven ! 
I  bless  thee,  who  hast  given 
Unto  life's  fainting  travellers  the  night,  — 
The  soft,  still,  holy  night ! 


THE  KISING  MOON. 

W.   B.   O.   PEABODY. 

The  moon  is  up !  how  calm  and  slow 
She  wheels  above  the  hill ! 

The  weary  winds  forget  to  blow, 
And  all  the  world  lies  still. 

The  way-worn  travellers  with  delight 

Her  rising  brightness  see, 
Revealing  all  the  paths  and  plains, 

And  gilding  every  tree. 

It  glistens  where  the  hurrying  stream 

Its  little  rippling  heaves ; 
It  falls  upon  the  forest-shade, 

And  sparkles  on  the  leaves. 


THE    LIGHT    OF    STARS.  25 

So  once  on  Judah's  evening  hills 

The  heavenly  lustre  spread  ; 
The  Gospel  sounded  from  the  blaze, 

And  shepherds  gazed  with  dread. 

And  still  that  light  upon  the  world 

Its  guiding  splendor  throws, 
Bright  in  the  opening  hours  of  life, 

And  brighter  at  its  close. 

The  waning  moon  in  time  shall  fail 

To  walk  the  midnight  skies ; 
But  God  hath  kindled  this  bright  light 

With  fire  that  never  dies. 


THE  LIGHT   OF   STARS. 


•VV.   II.    FURXESS. 


Slowly,  by  God's  hand  unfurled, 
Down  around  the  weary  world 
Falls  the  darkness  :   O  how  still 
Is  the  working  of  His  will ! 


*o 


Mighty  Spirit,  ever  nigh ! 
Work  in  me  as  silently  ; 
Veil  the  day's  distracting  sights, 
Show  me  heaven's  eternal  lights. 


26 


NATURE. 


Living  stars  to  view  be  brought, 
In  the  boundless  realms  of  thought ; 
High  and  infinite  desires, 
Flaming  like  those  upper  fires ! 

Holy  Truth,  eternal  Right,  — 
Let  them  break  upon  my  sight ; 
Let  them  shine  serene  and  still, 
And  with  light  my  being  fill. 


THE  INFINITY   OF   SPACE. 


JOHN   STERLING. 


When  up  to  nightly  skies  we  gaze, 
Where  stars  pursue  their  endless  ways, 
We  think  we  see  from  earth's  low  clod 
The  wide  and  shining  home  of  God. 

But  could  we  rise  to  moon  or  sun, 
Or  path  where  planets  duly  run, 
Still  heaven  would  spread  above  us  far, 
And  earth  remote  would  seem  a  star. 

'T  is  vain  to  dream  those  tracts  of  space 
With  all  their  worlds  approach  His  face ; 
One  glory  fills  each  wheeling  ball,  — 
One  love  has  shaped  and  moved  them  all. 


THE    INFINITY    OF    SPACE.  '-' 

This  earth,  with  all  its  dust  and  tears, 
Is  His  no  less  than  yonder  spheres ; 
And  rain-drops  weak,  and  grains  of  sand 
Are  stamped  by  His  immediate  hand. 

The  rock,  the  wave,  the  little  flower, 
All  fed  by  streams  of  living  power, 
That  spring  from  one  Almighty  will, 
Whate'er  His  thought  conceives,  fulfil. 

And  is  this  all  that  man  can  claim  ? 
Is  this  our  longing's  final  aim  ? 
To  be  like  all  things  round,  —  no  more 
Than  pebbles  cast  on  Time's  gray  shore  ? 

Can  man,  no  more  than  beast,  aspire 
To  know  his  being's  awful  Sire  ? 
And,  born  and  lost  on  Nature's  breast, 
No  blessing  seek  but  there  to  rest  ? 

Not  this  our  doom,  thou  God  benign ! 
Whose  rays  on  us  unclouded  shine : 
Thy  breath  sustains  yon  fiery  dome ; 
But  man  is  most  thy  favored  home. 

We  view  those  halls  of  painted  air, 
And  own  Thy  presence  makes  them  fair; 
But  dearer  still  to  thee,  O  Lord ! 
Is  he  whose  thoughts  to  thine  accord. 


28  NATURE. 


MELODIES   AXD  MYSTERIES. 

CHARLES   MACKAY. 

Wouldst  thou  know  what  the  blithe  bird  pipeth 

High  in  the  morning  air  ? 
Wouldst  thou  know  what  the  blithe  stream  sing- 
eth, 

Rippling  o'er  pebbles  bare  ?  : 

Sorrow  the  mystery  shall  teach  thee 

And  the  words  declare. 

Wouldst  thou  find  in  the  rose's  blossom 

More  than  thy  fellows  find  ? 
More  in  the  fragrance  of  the  lily 

Than  odor  on  the  wind  ? 
Love  Nature,  and  her  smallest  atoms 

Shall  whisper  to  thy  mind. 

Wouldst  thou  know  what  the  moon  discourseth 

To  the  docile  sea  ? 
Wouldst  hear  the  echoes  of  the  music 

Of  the  far  infinity  ! 
Sorrow  shall  ope  the  founts  of  knowledge, 

And  heaven  shall  sing  to  thee. 


Wouldst  thou  see  through  the  riddle  of  Being 
Further  than  others  can  ? 


CORRESPONDENCES.  29 

Sorrow  shall  give  thine  eyes  new  lustre 

To  simplify  the  plan ; 
And  love  of  God  and  thy  kind  shall  aid  thee 

To  end  what  it  began. 

To  Love  and  Sorrow  all  Nature  speaketh ; 

If  the  riddle  be  read, 
They  the  best  can  see  through  darkness 

Each  divergent  tread 
Of  its  mazy  texture,  and  discover 

Whence  the  ravel  spread. 

Love  and  Sorrow  are  sympathetic 

With  the  earth  and  skies  ; 
Their  touch  from  the  harp  of  Nature  bringeth 

The  hidden  melodies  ; 
To  them  the  eternal  chords  for  ever 

Vibrate  in  harmonies. 


CORRESPONDENCES. 


C.    P.    CRANXH. 


All  things  in  Nature  are  beautiful  types  to  the 

soul  that  will  read  them  ; 
Nothing  exists  upon  earth,  but  for  unspeakable 

ends. 

3* 


SO  NATURE. 

Every  object  that  speaks  to  the  senses  was  meant 
for  the  spirit : 

Nature  is  but  a  scroll,  —  God's  handwriting 
thereon. 

Ages  ago,  when  man  was  pure,  ere  the  flood 
overwhelmed  him, 

While  in  the  image  of  God  every  soul  yet 
lived, 

Everything  stood  as  a  letter  or  word  of  a  lan- 
guage familiar, 

Telling  of  truths  which  now  only  the  angels  can 
read. 

Lost  to  man  was  the  key  of  those  sacred  hiero- 
glyphics, — 

Stolen  away  by  sin,  —  till  with  Jesus  restored. 

Now  with  infinite  pains  we  here  and  there  spell 
out  a  letter ; 

Now  and  then  will  the  sense  feebly  shine  through 
the  dark. 

When  we  perceive  the  light  which  breaks  through 
the  visible  symbol, 

What  exultation  is  ours  !  we  the  discovery  have 
made ! 

Yet  is  the  meaning  the  same  as  when  Adam 
lived  sinless  in  Eden, 

Only  long-hidden  it  slept,  and  now  again  is  re- 
stored. 

Man  unconsciously  uses  figures  of  speech  every 
moment, 


CORKE8PONDBNC1  31 

Little   dreaming  the   cause  why  to  such  terms 

he  is  prone.  — 
Little  dreaming  that  everything  has  its  own  cor- 
respondence 
Folded   within   it   of   old,   as    In   the    body   the 

soul. 
Gleams  of  the  mystery  fall  on  us  still,  though 

much  is  forgotten, 
And   through   our  commonest   speech  illumines 

the  path  of  our  thoughts. 
Thus  does  the  lordly  sun  shine  out  a  type  of  the 

Godhead  ; 
Wisdom  and  Love  the  beams   that  shine  on  a 

darkened  world. 
Thus  do  the  sparkling  waters  flow,  giving  joy  to 

the  desert, 
And  the  great  Fountain  of  Life  opens  itself  to 

the  thirst. 
Thus  does  the  word  of  God  distil  like  the  rain 

and  the  dew-drops, 
Thus  does  the  warm  wind  breathe  like  to  the 

Spirit  of  God, 
And  the  green  grass  and  the  flowers  are  signs  of 

the  regeneration. 

O  thou  Spirit  of  Truth !  visit  our  minds  once 
more ! 
Give  us  to  read,  in  letters  of  light,  the  language 
celestial, 


32  NATURE. 

Written  all  over  the  earth,  —  written  all  over 
the  sky ; 

Thus  may  we  bring  our  hearts  at  length  to  know 
our  Creator, 

Seeing  in  all  things  around  types  of  the  Infi- 
nite Mind. 


NIAGARA. 


JOHN   G.    C.    BEAIXARD. 


The  thoughts  are  strange  that  crowd  into  my 

brain 
While  I  look  upward  to  thee!     It  would  seem 
As  if  God  poured  thee  from  his  hollow  hand, 
And  hung  his  bow  upon  thine  awful  front, 
And  spoke  in  that  loud  voice,  which  seemed  to 

him 
Who  dwelt  in  Patmos  for  his  Saviour's  sake, 
"  The  sound  of  many  waters,"  and  had  bade 
Thy  flood  to  chronicle  the  ages  back, 
And  notch  His  centuries  in  the  eternal  rocks. 

Deep  calleth  unto  deep,  —  and  what  are  we 
That  hear  the  question  of  that  voice  sublime  ? 
O,  what  are  all  the  notes  that  ever  rung 


Tin:    BACKWOODSMAN.  33 

From  war's  vain  trumpet,  by  thy  thundering  side? 
Yea,  what  is  all  the  riot  man  can  make, 
Jn  his  short  life,  to  thine  unceasing  roar  ? 
And  yet,  bold  babbler,  what  art  thou  to  Him 
Who  drowned  the  world,  and  heaped  the  waters 

far 
Above  its  loftiest  mountains  ?     A  light  wave, 
That  breaks  and  whispers  of  his  Maker's  might ! 


THE  BACKWOODSMAN. 

EPIIRAIM   TEABODY. 

The  silent  wilderness  for  me! 

Where  never  sound  is  heard, 
Save  the  rustling  of  the  squirrel's  foot 

And  the  Hitting  wing  of  bird, 
Or  its  low  and  interrupted  note, 

And  the  deer's  quick,  crackling  tread, 
And  the  swaying  of  the  forest  boughs, 

As  the  wind  moves  overhead. 

Alone,  —  how  glorious  to  be  free  !  — 

My  good  dog  at  my  side, 
My  rifle  hanging  on  my  arm, 

I  range  the  forests  wide. 


34  NATURE. 

And  now  the  regal  buffalo 

Across  the  plains  I  chase  ; 
Now  track  the  mountain  stream,  to  find 

The  beaver's  lurking-place. 

I  stand  upon  the  mountain's  top, 

And — solitude  profound !  — 
Not  even  a  woodman's  smoke  curls  up 

Within  the  horizon's  bound. 
Below,  as  o'er  its  ocean  breadth 

The  air's  light  currents  run, 
The  wilderness  of  moving  leaves 

Is  glancing  in  the  sun. 

I  look  around  to  where  the  sky- 
Meets  the  far  forest  line, 

And  this  imperial  domain, 
This  kingdom,  all  is  mine ! 

This  bending  heaven,  these  floating  clouds, 
Waters  that  ever  roll, 

And  wilderness  of  glory,  bring 
Their  offerings  to  my  soul. 

My  palace,  built  by  God's  own  hand, 
The  world's  fresh  prime  hath  seen  ; 

Wide  stretch  its  living  halls  away, 
Pillared  and  roofed  with  green. 

My  music  is  the  wind  that  now 
Pours  loud  its  swelling  bars, 


LINKS    WRITTEN    AT    TOCCOA    FALLS. 

Now  lulls  in  dying  cadences  ; 
My  festal  lamps  are  stars. 

Though  when,  in  this  my  lonely  home, 
My  star-watched  couch  I  press, 

I  hear  no  fond  "  Good  night !  "  think  not 
I  am  companionless. 

0  no !  I  see  my  father's  house, 
The  hill,  the  tree,  the  stream, 

And  the  looks  and  voices  of  my  home 
Come  gently  to  my  dream. 

And  in  the  solitary  haunts, 

"While  slumbers  every  tree, 
In  night  and  silence,  God  himself 

Seems  nearer  unto  me. 

1  feel  his  presence  in  the  shades, 

Like  the  embracing  air ; 
And  as  my  eyelids  close  in  sleep, 
My  heart  is  hushed  in  prayer. 


LINES  WRITTEN  AT  TOCCOA  FALLS,  GEORGIA. 

S.   G.   BULFIXCH. 

Loveliest  and  most  sublime ! 
Flashing  in  virgin  whiteness  from  the  skies! 
Here  may  the  traveller  fix  his  raptured  eyes, 

Nor  heed  quick-passing  time. 


36  NATURE. 

Through  thy  transparent  veil, 
And  wide  around  thee,  Nature's  grandest  forms, 
Rocks,  built  for  ages  to  abide  the  storms, 

Frown  on  the  subject  dale. 

Fed  by  thy  rapid  stream, 
In  every  crevice  of  that  savage  pile 
The  living  herbs  in  quiet  beauty  smile, 

Lit  by  the  sunny  gleam. 

And  over  all,  that  gush 
Of  rain-drops,  brightly  sparkling  in  the  sun  ! 
While  ages  round  thee  on  their  course  have  run, 

Forever  on  they  rush. 

I  would  not  that  the  bow 
With    gorgeous    hues    should   light   thy  virgin 

stream ; 
Better  thy  white  and  sunlit  foam  should  gleam 

Thus,  like  pure  mountain  snow. 

Yes  !  thou  hast  seen  these  woods 
Around,  for  centuries,  rise,  decay,  and  die, 
While  thou  hast  poured  thine  endless  current  by 

To  join  the  eternal  floods. 

The  ages  pass  away ; 
Successive  nations  rise  and  are  forgot, 
But  on  thy  brilliant  course  thou  pausest  not,  — 

Thy  changing,  changeless  play. 


TONGU1  37 

"When  I  have  sunk  to  rest, 


Thus  wilt  thou  pass,  in  calm  sublimity. 
Then  be  thy  voice  to  others,  as  to  me, 
To  the  deep  soul  addressed. 

Here  does  a  spirit  dwell 
Of  gratitude  and  contemplation  high, 
Holding  deep  union  with  eternity. 

O  loveliest  scene,  farewell ! 


TONGUES. 


A.   D.    T.    -W 


Earth  speaks  to  us !     Her  seasons,  as  they  roll, 
Give  noble  titterings, 

And  inward  bear  sweet  influence  o?er  the  soul, — 
Summers  and  springs ! 

Life  hath  its  lessons,  —  fervent  love,  and  losing, 

Rapture  and  pain, 
Writ  on  the  leaf  that  turns  not  at  our  choosing, 

Nor  turns  in  vain. 

And  every  earnest  spirit  finds  a  tongue, 
A  mystic  tone 

4 


<*0  NATURE. 

Out  on  an  air  of  mingled  echoes  flung, 
Seeking  its  own. 

God  speaketh  !     He  hath  left  beyond  the  sky 

His  awful  crown, 
And,  wearing  lesser  robes  of  majesty, 

To  earth  comes  down. 

Take  heed  how  ye  shall  hear,  —  in  gratitude, 

Coldness,  or  scorn,  — 
Since  to  each  soul  that  tongue  is  understood, 

Wherein  't  is  born. 

Art  thou  alive  to  things  of  sense  alone  ? 

Then  shalt  thou  hear, 
Naught   else,   though    heaven    and   earth   their 
thunder  tone 

Shout  in  thine  ear. 

Dost  reverent  wait  and  listen  for  the  teaching 

From  all  things  given? 
Then  doth  thine  attitude  of  pure  beseeching 

Lift  thee  to  heaven ! 

A  voice  shall  one  day  utter  weal  or  woe 

To  souls  of  men, 
And  "  each  in  his  own  language,"  learned  below, 

Must  hear  it  then ! 


THE    LILIES    OF    THE    FIELD. 


THE  LILIES  OF  THE  FIELD. 

AGXES  STRICKLAND. 

Fair  lilies  of  Jerusalem, 

Ye  wear  the  same  array 
As  when  imperial  Judah's  stem 

Maintained  its  regal  sway. 

By  sacred  Jordan's  desert  tide 

As  bright  ye  blossom  on 
As  when  your  simple  charms  outvied 

The  pride  of  Solomon. 

Ye  flourished  when  the  captive  band, 
By  prophets  warned  in  vain, 

Were  led  to  far  Euphrates'  strand, 
From  Jordan's  pleasant  plain, 

In  hostile  lands  to  weep  and  dream 
Of  things  that  still  were  free, 

And  sigh  to  see  your  golden  gleam, 
Sweet  flowers  of  Galilee ! 

Ye  have  survived  Judaea's  throne, 

Her  temple's  overthrow, 
And  seen  proud  Salem  sitting  lone, 

A  widow  in  her  woe. 


40  THE    LILIES    OF    THE    FIELD. 

But,  lilies  of  Jerusalem, 

Through  every  change  ye  shine ; 
Your  golden  urns  unfading  gem 

The  fields  of  Palestine. 


PART  II. 

REVELATION :  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT. 


THE  BIBLE. 


BERNARD  BARTOX. 


Lamp  of  our  feet !  whereby  we  trace 
Our  path,  when  wont  to  stray; 

Stream  from  the  fount  of  heavenly  grace  ! 
Brook  by  the  traveller's  way! 

Bread  of  our  souls  !  whereon  we  feed  ; 

True  manna  from  on  high ! 
Our  guide  and  chart !  wherein  we  read 

Of  realms  beyond  the  sky. 

Pillar  of  fire,  through  watches  dark  ! 

Of  radiant  cloud,  by  day  ! 
When  waves  would  whelm  our  tossing  bark, 

Our  anchor  and  our  stay ! 

4# 


42  REVELATION. 

Pole-star  on  life's  tempestuous  deep  ! 

Beacon  !  when  doubts  surround  ; 
Compass  !  by  which  our  course  we  keep  ; 

Our  deep-sea  lead,  to  sound ! 

Riches  in  poverty  !  our  aid 

In  every  needful  hour ! 
Unshaken  rock !  the  pilgrim's  shade, 

The  soldier's  fortress  tower! 

Our  shield  and  buckler  in  the  fight ! 

Victory's  triumphant  palm ! 
Comfort  in  grief !  in  weakness,  might ! 

In  sickness,  Gilead's  balm  ! 

Childhood's  preceptor !  manhood's  trust ! 

Old  age's  firm  ally  ! 
Our  hope  —  when  we  go  down  to  dust  — 

Of  immortality ! 

Pure  oracles  of  Truth  Divine  ! 

Unlike  each  fabled  dream 
Given  forth  from  Delphos'  mystic  shrine, 

Or  groves  of  Academe  ! 


Word  of  the  Ever-living  God  ! 

Will  of  his  glorious  Son  ! 
Without  thee  how  could  earth  be  trod  ? 

Or  heaven  itself  be  won  ? 


PLEDGES    OF    MERCY.  4o 

Yet  to  unfold  thy  hidden  worth, 

Thy  mysteries  to  reveal, 
That  Spirit  which  first  gave  thee  forth 

Thy  volume  must  unseal  ! 

And  we,  if  we  aright  would  learn 

The  wisdom  it  imparts, 
Must  to  its  heave nl v  teachings  turn 

With  simple,  child-like  hearts  ! 


PLEDGES   OF  MERCY. 


JOnX   KEBLE.  —  CHRISTIAN    YEAR. 


"  I  do  set  my  bow  in  the  cloud,  and  it  shall  be  for  a  token  of  a 
covenant  between  me  and  the  earth."  —  Gen.  ix.  13. 


Sweet  Dove  !  the  softest,  steadiest  plume 

In  all  the  sun-bright  sky, 
Brightening  in  ever-changeful  bloom, 

As  breezes  change  on  high  ;  — 

Sweet  Leaf!  the  pledge  of  peace  and  mirth, 
"  Long  sought  and  lately  won," 

Blest  increase  of  reviving  earth, 
When  first  it  felt  the  sun  :  — 


44  REVELATION. 

Sweet  Rainbow !  pride  of  summer  day?, 
High  set  at  Heaven's  command, 

Though  into  drear  and  dusky  haze 
Thou  melt  on  either  hand  ;  — 

Dear  tokens  of  a  pardoning  God, 

We  hail  ye,  one  and  all, 
As  when  our  fathers  walked  abroad, 

Freed  from  their  twelvemonth's  thrall. 

How  joyful  from  the  imprisoning  ark 
On  the  green  earth  they  spring ! 

Not  blither,  after  showers,  the  lark 
Mounts  up  with  glistening  wing. 

So  home-bound  sailors  spring  to  shore, 

Two  oceans  safely  past ; 
So  happy  souls,  when  life  is  o'er, 

Plunge  in  the  empyreal  vast. 

What  wins  their  first  and  fondest  gaze 

In  all  the  blissful  field, 
And  keeps  it  through  a  thousand  days  ? 

Love,  face  to  face  revealed;  — 

Love,  imaged  in  that  cordial  look 

Oar  Lord  in  Eden  bends 
On  souls  that  sin  and  earth  forsook 

In  time  to  die  his  friends. 


PLEDGES    OF    MERCY.  45 

And  what  most  welcome  and  serene 

Dawns  on  the  Patriarch's  eye 
In  all  the  emerging  hills  so  green, 

In  all  the  brightening  sky? 

What  but  the  gentle  rainbow's  gleam, 

Soothing  the  wearied  sight 
That  cannot  bear  the  solar  beam, 

With  soft  undazzling  light  ? 

Lord,  if  our  fathers  turned  to  thee 

With  such  adoring  gaze, 
Wondering  frail  man  thy  light  should  see 

Without  thy  scorching  blaze,  — 

Where  is  our  love,  and  where  our  hearts, 

We  who  have  seen  thy  Son, 
Have  tried  thy  Spirit's  winning  arts, 

And  yet  we  are  not  won  ? 

The  Son  of  God  in  radiance  beamed 

Too  bright  for  us  to  scan, 
But  we  may  face  the  rays  that  streamed 

From  the  mild  Son  of  Man. 

There,  parted  into  rainbow  hues, 

In  sweet,  harmonious  strife, 
We  see  celestial  love  diffuse 

Its  light  o'er  Jesus'  life. 


46  REVELATION. 

God,  by  his  bow,  vouchsafes  to  write 
This  truth  in  heaven  above  ; 

As  every  lovely  hue  is  light, 
So  every  grace  is  love. 


ANGELIC   VISITANTS. 


CHARLES    MACKAY. 


On  Mamre's  plain,  beside  the  Patriarch's  door 
The  ministering  angels  sat ;  —  the  world  was 
young, 
And  men  beheld  what  they  behold  no  more. 
Ah  no  !    the    harps    of   heaven    are    not    un- 
strung ! 
The  angelic  visitants  may  yet  appear 

To  those  who  seek  them !     Lo !    at  Virtue's 

side, 
Its  friend,  its  prop,  its  solace,  and  its  guide, 
Walks  Faith,  with  upturned  eyes  and  voice  of 

cheer, 
A  visible  angel.     Lo,  at  Sorrow's  call, 

Hope  hastens  down,  an  angel  fair  and  kind, 
And  whispers  comfort  whatsoe'er  befall ; 

While  Charity,  the  seraph  of  the  mind, 
White-robed  and  pure,  becomes  each  good  man's 

guest, 
And  makes  this  earth  a  heaven  to  all  who  love 
her  best. 


SONG    OF    THE    MANNA-G ATHERER3.  1? 


SONG  OF  THE  MANNA-GATHERERS. 

KEBLE.  —  LYRA  IXXOCEXTIUM. 

This  is  the  bread  which  the  Lord  hath  given  you  to  eat."' 

Comrades,  haste  !  the  tent's  tall  shading 

Lies  along  the  level  sand 
Far  and  faint :  the  stars  are  fading 

O'er  the  gleaming  western  strand. 
Airs  of  morninsr 

Freshen  the  bleak,  burning  land. 

Haste,  or  ere  the  third  hour  glowing 

With  its  eager  thirst  prevail 
O'er  the  moist  pearls,  now  bestrowing 

Thymy  slope  and  rushy  vale,  — 
Dews  celestial, 

Left  when  earthly  dews  exhale. 

Ere  the  bright  good  hour  be  wasted, 
Glean,  not  ravening,  nor  in  sloth  : 

To  your  tent  bring  all  untasted  ;  — 
To  thy  father,  nothing  loth, 

Brins:  thv  treasure : 
Trust  thy  God,  and  keep  thy  troth. 

Trust  him  :  care  not  for  the  morrow ; 
Should  thine  omer  overflow, 


48  .  REVELATION. 

And  some  poorer  seek  to  borrow, 
Be  thy  gift  nor  scant  nor  slow. 

Wonldst  thou  store  it  ? 
Ope  thine  hand  and  let  it  go. 

Trust  his  daily  work  of  wonder, 
Wrought  in  all  his  people's  sight : 

Think  on  yon  high  place  of  thunder, 
Think  upon  the  unearthly  light 

Brought  from  Sinai, 
When  the  prophet's  face  grew  bright. 

Think,  the  glory  yet  is  nigh  thee, 
Power  unfelt  arrests  thine  arm, 

Love  aye  watching  to  deny  thee 
Stores  abounding  to  thy  harm. 

Rich  and  needy 
All  are  levelled  by  love's  charm. 

Sing  we  thus  our  songs  of  labor 
At  our  harvest  in  the  wild, 

For  our  God  and  for  our  neighbor, 
Till  six  times  the  morn  have  smiled, 

And  our  vessels 
Are  with  twofold  treasure  piled. 

For  that  one,  that  heavenly  morrow, 
We  may  care  and  toil  to-day : 

Other  thrift  is  loss  and  sorrow, 
Savings  are  but  thrown  away. 


SONG    OF    THE    KANNA-OATHEBER8.  49 

Hoarded  manna  !  — 
Moths  and  worms  shall  on  it  prey. 

While  the  faithless  and  unstable 
Mars  with  work  the  season  blest, 

"We  around  thy  heaven-sent  table 
Praise  thee,  Lord,  with  all  our  best. 

Signs  prophetic 
Fill  our  week,  both  toil  and  rest. 

Comrades,  what  our  sires  have  told  us,  — 
Watch  and  wait,  for  it  will  come  ; 

Smiling  vale  shall  soon  enfold  us 
In  a  new  and  vernal  home  : 

Earth  will  feed  us 
From  her  own  benignant  womb. 

We  beside  the  wondrous  river 
In  the  appointed  hour  shall  stand, 

Following,  as  from  Egypt  ever, 

The  bright  cloud  and  outstretched  hand: 

In  thy  shadow 
We  shall  rest,  on  Abraham's  land. 

Not  by  manna-showers  at  morning 
Shall  our  board  be  then  supplied, 

But  a  strange  pale  gold,  adorning 
Many  a  tufted  mountain-side, 

Yearly  feed  us, 
Year  by  year  our  murmurings  chide. 

5 


50  REVELATION. 

There,  no  prophet's  touch  awaiting, 
From  each  cool,  deep  cavern  start 

Rills,  that  since  their  first  creating 
Ne'er  have  ceased  to  sing  their  part. 

Oft  we  hear  them 
In  our  dreams,  with  thirsty  heart. 

O,  when  travel-toils  are  over, 

When  above  our  tranquil  nest 
All  our  guardian  angels  hover, 

Will  our  hearts  be  quite  at  rest  ? 
Nay,  fair  Canaan 

Is  not  heavenly  Mercy's  best. 

Know  ye  not,  our  glorious  Leader 

Salem  may  but  see,  and  die  ? 
Israel's  guide  and  nurse  and  feeder 

Israel's  hope  from  far  must  eye, 
Then,  departing, 

Find  a  worthier  throne  on  high. 

Dimly  shall  fond  fancy  trace  him, 

Dim,  though  sweet,  her  dreams  shall  prove, 

Wondering  what  high  powers  embrace  him, 
Where  in  light  he  walks  above, 

Where,  in  silence 
Sleeping,  hallows  heath  or  grove. 

Deeps  of  blessing  are  before  us : 
Only,  while  the  desert  sky 


THE    BURIAL    OF    MOSES.  51 

And  the  sheltering  cloud  hang  o'er  us, 
Morn  by  mom,  obediently, 

Glean  we  manna, 
And  the  song  of  Moses  try. 


THE  BURIAL  OF  MOSES. 


DUBLIN    UNIVERSITY   MAGAZINE. 


"  And  he  buried  him  in  a  valley  in  the  land  of  Moab,  over  against 
Bethpeor;  but  no  man  knoweth  of  his  sepulchre  unto  this  day."  — 
Deut.  xxxiv.  6. 


By  Nebo's  lonely  mountain, 

On  this  side  Jordan's  wave, 
In  a  vale  in  the  land  of  Moab, 

There  lies  a  lonely  grave, 
And  no  man  dug  that  sepulchre, 

And  no  man  saw  it  e'er  ; 
For  the  angels  of  God  upturned  the  sod, 

And  laid  the  dead  man  there. 

That  was  the  grandest  funeral 

That  ever  passed  on  earth, 
But  no  man  heard  the  trampling, 

Or  saw  that  train  go  forth. 


52  REVELATION. 


Noiselessly  as  the  daylight 

Comes  when  the  night  is  done, 

And  the  crimson  streak  on  ocean's  cheek 
Grows  into  the  great  sun ; 


Noiselessly  as  the  spring-time 

Her  crown  of  verdure  weaves, 
And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  hills 

Open  their  thousand  leaves : 
So,  without  sound  of  music, 

Or  voice  of  them  that  wept, 
Silently  down,  from  the  mountain's  crown, 

The  great  procession  swept. 

Perchance  the  bald  old  eagle, 

On  gray  Bethpeor's  height, 
Out  of  his  rocky  eyrie 

Looked  on  the  wondrous  sight ; 
Perchance  the  lion  stalking 

Still  shuns  that  hallowed  spot : 
For  beast  and  bird  have  seen  and  heard 

That  which  man  knoweth  not. 

But  when  the  warrior  dieth, 

His  comrades  in  the  war, 
With  arms  reversed  and  muffled  drum, 

Follow  the  funeral  car. 
They  show  the  banners  taken, 

They  tell  his  battles  won, 


THE    BURIAL    OF    MOSES.  53 

And  after  him  lead  his  mastcrless  steed, 
While  peals  the  minute  gun. 

Amid  the  noblest  of  the  land 

Men  lay  the  sage  to  rest, 
And  give  the  bard  an  honored  place, 

With  costly  marble  drest, 
In  the  great  minster  transept, 

Where  lights  like  glories  fall, 
And  the  sweet  choir  sings,  and  the  organ  rings 

Along  the  emblazoned  wall. 

This  was  the  bravest  warrior 

That  ever  buckled  sword ; 
This  the  most  gifted  poet 

That  ever  breathed  a  word  ; 
And  never  earth's  philosopher 

Traced  with  his  golden  pen 
On  the  deathless  page  truths  half  so  sage 

As  he  wrote  down  for  men. 

And  had  he  not  high  honor  ? 

The  hill-side  for  his  pall, 
To  lie  in  state  while  angels  wait 

With  stars  for  tapers  tall, 
And  the  dark  rock  pines  like  tossing  plumes 

Over  his  bier  to  wave, 
And  God's  own  hand  in  that  lonely  land 

To  lay  him  in  the  grave. 

5* 


54  REVELATION. 

In  that  deep  grave  without  a  name, 

"Whence  his  uncoffined  clay- 
Shall  break  again,  most  wondrous  thought! 

Before  the  Judgment  Day, 
And  stand  with  glory  wrapped  around 

On  the  hills  he  never  trod, 
And  speak  of  the  strife  that  won  our  life 

With  the  Incarnate  Son  of  God. 

O  lonely  tomb  in  Moab's  land ! 

O  dark  Bethpeor's  hill! 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours, 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  his  mysteries  of  grace, 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell ; 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  secret  sleep 
■    Of  him  he  loved  so  well. 


RUTH. 


A.    A.    WATTS. 


Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee  so, 
Or  turn  from  following  thee ; 

Where'er  thou  goest  I  will  go, 
Thy  home  my  home  shall  be ! 


naaman's  servant.  55 

The  path  thou  treadest,  —  hear  my  vow,  — 

By  me  shall  still  be  trod ; 
Thy  people  be  my  people  now  ; 

Thy  God  shall  be  my  God ! 

Reft  of  all  else,  to  thee  I  cleave, 

Content  if  thou  art  nigh  ; 
Whene'er  thou  grievest,  I  will  grieve, 

And  where  thou  diest,  die ! 

And  may  the  Lord,  whose  hand  hath  wrought 

This  weight  of  misery, 
Afflict  me  so,  and  more,  if  aught 

But  death  part  thee  and  me ! 


NAAMAN'S   SERVANT. 

KEBLE.  —  LYRA   IXNOCEXTIUM. 

"  Who  hath  despised  the  day  of  small  things  ?  " 

"  Who  for  the  like  of  me  will  care  ?  " 
So  whispers  many  a  mournful  heart. 
When  in  the  weary,  languid  air, 
For  grief  or  scorn,  we  pine  apart. 


56  REVELATION. 

So  haply  mused  yon  little  maid, 

From  Israel's  breezy  mountains  borne, 

No  more  to  rest  in  Sabbath  shade, 
"Watching  the  free  and  wavy  corn. 

A  captive  now,  and  sold  and  bought, 
In  the  proud  Syrian's  hall  she  waits, 

Forgotten  —  such  her  moody  thought  — 
Even  as  the  worm  beneath  the  gates. 

But  One  who  ne'er  forgets  is  here : 
He  hath  a  word  for  thee  to  speak  : 

O  serve  him  yet  in  duteous  fear, 
And  to  thy  Gentile  lord  be  meek. 

So  shall  the  healing  Name  be  known 
By  thee  on  many  a  heathen  shore, 

And  Naaman  on  his  chariot  throne 
Wait  humbly  by  Elisha's  door,  — 

By  thee  desponding  lepers  know 
The  sacred  waters'  sevenfold  might. 

Then  wherefore  sink  in  listless  woe? 

Christ's  poor  and  needy!  claim  your  right, 

Your  heavenly  right,  to  do  and  bear 
All  for  his  sake ;  nor  yield  one  sigh 

To  pining  doubt ;  nor  ask,  "  What  care 
In  the  wide  world  for  such  as  I  ?  " 


THE    LIBATION.  ~>? 

THE  LIBATION. 

H.   WAKE,   JR.  —  "FEAST  OF  TABERNACLES." 

niGn-rniEST. 

'T  is  done.     The  praise  is  said.     Another  rite 
Succeeds.     Bring  forth  the  sacred  golden  bowl ; 
And  let  the  appointed  priest  convey  it  down 
To  Siloa's  hallowed  fountain.     Let  him  draw 
The  sparkling  waters ;  and  with  cautious  step, 
In  glad  procession,  bring  them  up  the  mount, 
And  bear  them  to  the  altar  of  the  Lord. 
Attend  him,  ye  that  will ;  and,  ye  that  will, 
Abide,  till  with  loud  trump,  and  echoing  shout, 
And  waving  palms,  the  absent  throng  return. 

WOMEN. 

They  go ;  they  pass  the  gates ;  the  sacred  courts 
They  leave  ;  their  distant  tread  dies  on  the  ear. 
Wait  not  in  silence  for  their  slow  return  ; 
But  wake  the  echoes  of  the  Holy  Place 
With  song,  and  warble  forth  the  coming  rite. 

song  (woman). 

Flow  on,  flow  on,  thou  bright,  clear  stream ! 

Flow  on,  thou  fair,  perpetual  fount ! 
Transparent  as  the  sun's  warm  beam, 

Bathe  the  stern  foot  of  Judah's  mount. 


58  REVELATION. 

The  sun  above,  thy  waves  below, 
Unsullied  shines,  unsullied  flow ; 
Thou  as  the  crystal  heavens  art  pure, 
And  like  the  heavens  thou  shalt  endure. 

The  Temple  crowns  Moriah's  height, 

Thy  waters  murmur  at  its  base  ; 
That  seems  Jehovah's  throne  of  light, 
Thou  his  exhaustless  fount  of  grace. 
And  when  the  emblems  we  would  join 
Of  holy  Love  and  Power  divine, 
We  draw  thy  waters  from  their  bed, 
And  pour  them  on  the  mountain's  head. 

{Trumpet.) 

PRIEST. 

They  come,  they  come !  their  signal  notes  re- 
sound ; 

Their  steps  approach ;  their  gladdening  songs 
draw  near. 

people  (returning). 

Hosanna!  hosanna!  we  bring  the  libation, 

The  waters  that  flow  from  the  fount  of  salvation. 

high-priest. 

Now  let  the  sacred  element  be  borne 

To  the  high  altar's  top  ;  there,  with  the  wine 

Already  hallowed  for  the  sacrifice, 


THE     LIBATION'.  59 

Let  it  be  mingled.      With  a  reverent  hand 
Then  pour  the  mixture  out ;  while,  Hinging  high 
Their  verdant  palms,  with  solemn  shout  and  song, 
The  people  dance  around  their  glorious  shrine. 

PEOPLE. 

Hosanna !  hosanna !  pour  out  the  libation ! 

Glory  and  beauty,  O  altar,  to  thee! 
With  gladness  we  draw  from  the  wells  of  salva- 
tion 

Waters  of  life,  ever  flowing  and  free. 

Joy  to  thee,  joy  to  thee,  life-giving  river! 

Glory  and  beauty,  O  altar,  to  thee  ! 
The  streams  of  salvation  roll  onward  for  ever,  — 

Life  to  the  universe,  boundless  and  free. 

niGn-riUEST. 

Now  tell  your  children  what  this  rite  intends  ; 
What  mean  these  glowing  forms,  these  words  of 

joy. 

PRIEST. 

The  prophet  gave  the  blow ; 
Forth  gushed  the  cool,  refreshing  wave, 
The  parched  and  perishing  to  save, 

Far  as  its  waters  flow. 
Recalled  to  life,  the  dying  band 
Pressed  eager  to  the  destined  land. 


60 


REVELATION. 

So,  in  some  latter  day, 
When  Israel  lies  in  woe  and  fear, 
Her  great  Anointed  shall  appear, 

To  chase  her  dark  dismay. 
From  Him  a  holier  stream  shall  flow, 
To  save  the  world  from  darker  woe. 

O,  haste  the  glorious  hour ! 
Haste,  David's  Son,  illustrious  King! 
Come  to  thy  waiting  saints,  and  bring 

Thy  glory,  peace,  and  power. 
Hosanna !  let  the  people  cry  ; 
Hosanna  !  earth  and  heaven  reply. 


PART  III. 

THE    GOSPEL 


A   CHRISTMAS   HYMN. 


ALFRED    DOMETT. 


It  was  the  calm  and  silent  night ! 

Seven  hundred  years  and  fifty-three 
Had  Rome  been  growing  up  to  might, 

And  now  was  queen  of  land  and  sea ! 
No  sound  was  heard  of  clashing  wars, 

Peace  brooded  o'er  the  hushed  domain 
Apollo,  Pallas,  Jove,  and  Mars 

Held  undisturbed  their  ancient  reign, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago ! 

'T  was  in  the  calm  and  silent  night! 

The  senator  of  haughty  Rome 
Impatient  urged  his  chariot's  flight, 

From  lordly  revel  rolling  home. 
6 


62  THE    GOSPEL. 

Triumphal  arches,  gleaming,  swell 

His  breast  with  thoughts  of  boundless  sway: 
What  recked  the  Roman  what  befell 
A  paltry  province  far  away, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago  ? 

Within  that  province  far  away 

Went  plodding  home  a  weary  boor; 
A  streak  of  light  before  him  lay, 

Fallen  through  a  half-shut  stable-door 
Across  his  path.     He  paused,  for  naught 

Told  what  was  going  on  within  ; 
How  keen  the  stars,  his  only  thought ; 

The  air  how  calm,  and  cold,  and  thin, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago ! 

O  strange  indifference !  —  low  and  high 

Drowsed  over  common  joys  and  cares  ; 
The  earth  was  still,  but  knew  not  why ; 

The  world  was  listening  —  unawares  ! 
Plow  calm  a  moment  may  precede 

One  that  shall  thrill  the  world  for  ever ! 
To  that  still  moment  none  would  heed, 

Man's  doom  was  linked,  no  more  to  sever, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago ! 


THE    CHRISTMAS    BELL.  <>:> 

It  is  the  calm  and  solemn  night  ! 

A  thousand  bells  ring  out,  and  throw 
Their  joyous  peals  abroad,  and  smite 

The  darkness,  charmed  and  holy  now ! 
The  night  that  erst  no  shame  had  worn, 

To  it  a  happy  name  is  given  ; 
For  in  that  stable  lay,  new-born, 

The  peaceful  Prince  of  earth  and  heaven, 
In  the  solemn  midnight, 
Centuries  ago ! 


•THE   CHRISTMAS  BELL. 

ROBERT  P.  ROGERS. 

Long  ages  it  hath  been  ringing 
Since  the  angels  sang  by  night, 

And  the  star  bent  over  the  manger 
With  its  benison  of  light. 

I  hear  the  stream  of  its  music 
Flow  down  the  distance  past, 

A  lullaby  breathed  to  the  present, 
A  requiem  to  the  past. 

It  comes  on  the  air  of  winter, 
And  the  air  is  filled  with  snow, 

So  that  the  sound  is  deadened 
Till  the  music  is  deep  and  low. 


64  THE    GOSPEL. 

But  every  ear  that  will  listen 
May  catch  its  wavering  tone 

And  every  heart  find  a  meaning 
Meant  for  itself  alone. 

To  some  it  comes  as  a  warning 
Of  trial's  turbulent  tide, 
;  That  will  strengthen  the  feeble  spirit, 
Or  humble  its  erring  pride. 

While  to  many,  the  young  and  happy 
Who  have  little  pain  to  bear, 

It  peals  like  the  bells  of  a  bridal 
That  play  with  the  summer  air. 

And  to  others,  the  pale  and  weary 
Who  have  garnered  their  sheaves, 

It  flows  with  a  heavenly  summons, 
Like  the  dropping  of  autumn  leaves. 

To  the  wretched,  the  sorely  tempted, 
To  the  bowed,  subdued  by  sorrow, 

It  comes  with  the  voice  of  blessing, 
And  whispers  hope  for  the  morrow. 

But  to  all  of  us  wandering  pilgrims 
O  may  these  varied  chimes 

Ring  as  a  beautiful  prelude 
To  another  march  of  times, 


DANGER    OF    PRAISE.  65 


Bringing  us  sweet  assurance 
Of  the  love  of  earthly  friends, 

And  the  care  of  the  dear  departed, 
And  the  hope  that  heaven  sends. 

And  so  will  the  angel  music, 
This  midnight  dark  and  deep, 

As  it  floats  around  our  pillows, 
Hush  every  care  to  sleep. 

And  our  dreams  of  untroubled  slumber 
Like  shepherds,  will  watch  on  high 

The  star  of  joy  and  of  promise 
As  it  shone  in  Bethlehem's  sky. 


DANGER   OF   PRAISE. 


KEBLE.  —  LYRA   INNOCEXTIUM. 


"  And  he  confessed  and  denied  not ;  but  confessed,  I  am  not  the 
Christ." 

Whex  mortals  praise  thee,  hide  thine  eyes, 

Nor  in  thy  Master's  wrong 
Take  to  thyself  his  crown  and  prize  ; 

Yet  more  in  heart  than  tongue. 

6* 


66  THE    GOSPEL. 

None  holier  than  the  Desert  priest 

Beneath  the  Law's  dim  sky, 
Yet  in  Heaven's  kingdom  with  the  least, 

We  read,  he  might  not  vie. 

No  member,  yet,  of  Christ  the  Son, 

No  Gospel  prophet  he  ; 
Only  a  voice  from  out  the  throne 

Of  dread  yet  blest  decree. 

If  he  confessed,  nor  dared  deny, 
"Woe  to  that  Christian's  heart 

Who  in  man's  praise  would  walk  on  high, 
And  steal  his  Saviour's  part ! 

And  ah  !  to  him  what  tenfold  woe, 

Who  hides  so  well  his  sin, 
Through  earth  he  seems  a  saint  to  go, 

Yet  dies  impure  within ! 

Pray  we  our  Lord,  one  pang  to  send 

Of  deep,  remorseful  fear 
For  every  smile  of  partial  friend  ;  — 

Praise  be  our  penance  here  ! 


SONNET.  C)7 


SONNET. 

SACRED   OFFERING. 

Matthew,  Chapter  iv. 

Upon  the  mountain's  height  he  stood,  —  below, 
The  kingdoms  of  the  world  around  him  spread 
Their  glories  to  his  view.     The  Tempter  said, 

u  Fall  down  and  worship  me ;  I  will  bestow 

Upon  thee  all  these  things."    "  Hence  !  thoushalt 
bow 
To  God  alone !  "  replied  the  Holy  One  ; 
"  Him  only  shalt  thou  serve.  —  Satan,  begone ! " 

Awed  by  the  voice  divine,  and  threatening  brow. 

The  Tempter  instant  fled,  and,  borne  on  wing 
Of  love,  the  ministering  angels  come 
In  robes  of  light,  and  heaven's  immortal  bloom. 

Aid  from  above  with  gentle  hands  to  bring; 

And  shall  we  tremble  on  our  high  career, 

When  He  who  guarded  Jesus  still  is  near  ? 


68  THE    GOSPEL. 


CANA. 


J.    F.    CLARKE. 


Dear  Friend !  whose  presence  in  the  house, 

Whose  gracious  word  benign, 
Could  once,  at  Cana's  wedding  feast, 

Change  water  into  wine, — 

Come,  visit  us,  and  when  dull  work 

Grows  weary,  line  on  line, 
Revive  our  souls,  and  make  us  see 

Life's  water  glow  as  wine. 

Gay  mirth  shall  deepen  into  joy, 
Earth's  hopes  shall  grow  divine, 

When  Jesus  visits  us,  to  turn 
Life's  water  into  wine. 

The  social  talk,  the  evening  fire, 
,    The  homely  household  shrine, 
Shall  glow  with  angel  visits  when 
The  Lord  pours  out  the  wine. 

For  when  self-seeking  turns  to  love, 
Which  knows  not  mine  and  thine, 

The  miracle  again  is  wrought, 
And  water  changed  to  wine. 


BONNET.  69 


SONNET. 


SACRED   OFFERING. 


Luke,  Chapter  iv. 

He  stood  within  the  Temple  ;  on  his  brow 

Sat  heavenly  wisdom,  and  his*  Father's  love  ; 
The  holy  book  before  him  ;  and  below, 

The  people  round  their  gracious  Saviour  move  ; 
The  page,  with  great  Isaiah's  vision  fraught, 

Then  with  a  voice  divine  the  Master  read : 
"  The  spirit  of  the  Lord  is  on  me,  —  taught 

To  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  poor,  and  led 
By  Him  to  heal  the  broken  heart,  to  preach 

Deliverance  to  the  captives,  to  the  blind 
Restore  their  sight  again  ;  and  I  must  reach 

Aid  to  the  bruised  ones,  and  their  chains  un- 
bind." 
O  words  of  love  and  mercy!  still  shall  rest 
Thy  spirit,  Jesus,  in  thy  follower's  breast. 


70  THE    GOSPEL. 


THE  DIAGE   OF   THE  EARTHY. 

T.  H.   GILL. 

O  mean  may  seem  this  house  of  clay, 
Yet 't  was  the  Lord's  abode ; 

Our  feet  may  mourn  this  thorny  way, 
Yet  here  Emmanuel  trod. 

This  fleshly  robe  the  Lord  did  wear, 
This  watch  the  Lord  did  keep, 

These  burdens  sore  the  Lord  did  bear, 
These  tears  the  Lord  did  weep. 

This  world  the  Master  overcame, 
This  death  the  Lord  did  die ; 

O  vanquished  world !   O  glorious  shame  ! 
O  hallowed  agony ! 

O  vale  of  tears,  no  longer  sad, 
Wherein  the  Lord  did  dwell ! 

O  holy  robe  of  flesh,  that  clad 
Our  own  Emmanuel ! 

Our  very  frailty  brings  us  near 

Unto  the  Lord  of  heaven  ; 
To  every  grief,  to  every  tear, 

Such  glory  strange  is  given. 


SONNET.  71 

SONNET. 

SACRED   OFFERING. 

Matthew,  Chapter  xi. 

"  Come  unto  me,"  the  heavenly  Teacher  said, 

"  All  ye  with  labor  and  with  toil  opprest, 

And  I  will  give  your  wearied  spirits  rest ; 

And  bear  my  yoke,  and  in  my  footsteps  tread, 

For  I  am  meek  and  lowly,  and  will  lead 

Your  souls  to  peace  ;  for  gentle  is  my  yoke, 
My  burden  light."    O,  not  in  vain  were  spoke, 
Saviour,  thy  words  of  mercy,  still  decreed 
To  cheer  my  drooping  soul,  upon  its  way 

Through  earthly  scenes  of  trial,  care,  and  strife ! 
Yes,  I  will  come  to  thee  ;  thy  words  of  life 
Shall  calm  each  anxious  thought,  and  chase  away 
The  hopes,  the  fears,  the  vain  desires,  that  rise 
To  lure  my  spirit  from  its  kindred  skies. 


72  THE    GOSPEL. 


THE   SAVIOUR  IX   THE   THRONG   OF 
HUMAN   LIFE. 

BY   JOHN"   STERLING. 

Amid  the  gay  and  noisy  throng 

Around  me  fluttering,  wheeling,  shining, 
My  ears  are  filled  with  shout  and  song; 

But  yet  my  soul  is  still  repining. 

In  every  face  around  I  see 

Some  heart-felt  curse  in  silence  working  ; 
Each  eye  reflects  my  sins  on  me, 

And  shows  me  all  within  me  lurking. 

'Mid  bounding  joy  and  passion's  glow, 
'Mid  sportive  bursts  of  mutual  gladness, 

Thin  shades  arise  from  far  below, 

Where  boils  a  secret  gulf  of  madness. 

A  quivering  cheek,  a  faltering  glance, 

One  throb,  one  sigh,  the  whole  revealing ; 

In  all  the  flashing,  whirling  dance, 
I  see  a  world  of  shipwreck  reeling. 

And  while  I  fain  would  pause  and  think, 
Me  too  the  tumult  onward  presses  ; 

In  vain  I  strive,  in  vain  I  shrink ; 

My  breast  the  hour's  vague  fiend  possesses. 


THE    SAVIOUR    IN    T1IK    THRONG.  7:) 

'Mid  wreaths  and  gems, 'mid  masks  and  crowns, 

'Mid  brows  austere,  or  smooth  from  sorrow, 
On  all  alike  one  ruin  frowns. 

And  bodes  for  all  one  fearful  morrow. 

And  't  is  the  worst  despair  to  know, 
By  pangs  within  my  bosom  aching, 

How  deep  in  each  the  root  of  woe, 

How  many  a  heart  is  slowly  breaking. 

But  while  my  sad,  bewildered  view 
The  wide  confusion  vainly  traces, 

One  look  I  see  serenely  true, 

Among  the  false  and  loveless  faces. 

Like  yon  blue  sky,  when  first  it  shows 

The  storm-tost  ship  how  Heaven  hath  pity; 

Or  some  pure  mountain  breeze  that  blows 
Its  healing  o'er  a  plague-struck  city. 

A  voice  not  loud,  like  wind  or  wave, 

A  look  made  low  by  conscious  greatness, 

Where  all  is  calm,  and  deep,  and  grave, 
With  a  full  soul's  mature  sedateness. 

By  Him  subdued  to  thought  and  peace, 
The  crowd  no  more  in  tumult  wander ; 

The  sounds  of  surging  riot  cease, 

And  hearts  high  swollen  devoutly  ponder. 

7 


74  THE    GOSPEL. 

By  his  mild  glance  and  sober  power 
Renewed  to  tranquil  aspiration, 

My  soul  escapes  the  reckless  hour, 
And  learns  his  spirit's  pure  elation. 

To  thee,  O  God !  a  man  redeemed, 
With  all  a  world  to  thee  returning, 

We  own  the  light  from  Him  that  beamed, 
In  Him  the  source  for  ever  burning. 

So,  'mid  our  stormy  griefs  and  joys, 
May  He  still  teach  unforced  devotion, 

Recall  our  shaken  being's  poise, 
And  clear  and  deepen  all  emotion. 


SONNET. 


SACRED   OFFERING. 


John,  Chapter  xi. 


"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life, — 
He  who  believes  in  me  shall  never  die." 
These,  Master,  were  thy  words  ;  and  still  rely 
My  hopes  unmoved  upon  them,  'mid  the  strife 
Of  earthly  care  ;  and  then  I  follow  thee 
To  the  cold  grave  where  Lazarus  is  laid. 


LAZARUS    AND    MART.  7o 

I  see  thy  tear?,  and  Mary  asks  thine  aid, — 
The  aid  is  present.  "  That  thou  hearedst  me, 
Father,  I  thank  thee  "  ;  and  thou  criest  aloud 

To    Lazarus,   "  Come   forth ! "    He   lives,   he 
breathes, 

The  funeral  garb  is  rent,  the  many  wreaths 
Of  death  are  torn  away,  and  the  pale  shroud ; 
Whilst   wondering   forms   around   the    Saviour 

move, 
And  own  the  presence  of  Almighty  Love. 


LAZARUS  AND  MARY. 

TEXXYSOX.  —  ':  IX   MEMOF.IAM."' 

When  Lazarus  left  his  eharnel-cave, 
And  home  to  Mary's  house  returned, 
Was  this  demanded,  —  if  he  yearned 

To  hear  her  weeping  by  his  grave? 

"  Where  wert  thou,  brother,  those  four  days  ?  n 

There  lives  no  record  of  reply, 

Which,  telling  what  it  is  to  die, 
Had  surely  added  praise  to  praise. 

From  every  house  the  neighbors  met, 

The  streets  were  filled  with  joyful  sound  ; 


76  THE    GOSPEL. 

A  solemn  gladness  even  crowned 
The  purple  brows  of  Olivet. 

Behold  a  man  raised  up  by  Christ ! 

The  rest  remaineth  unrevealed ; 

He  told  it  not ;  or  something  sealed 
The  lips  of  that  Evangelist. 


Her  eyes  are  homes  of  silent  prayer, 
Nor  other  thought  her  mind  admits 
But,  he  was  dead,  and  there  he  sits, 

And  he  that  brought  him  back  is  there. 

Then  one  deep  love  doth  supersede 
All  other,  when  her  ardent  gaze 
Roves  from  the  living  brother's  face, 

And  rests  upon  the  Life  indeed. 

All  subtle  thought,  all  curious  fears, 
Borne  down  by  gladness  so  complete, 
She  bows,  she  bathes  the  Saviour's  feet 

With  costly  spikenard  and  with  tears. 

Thrice  blest  whose  lives  are  faithful  prayers, 
Whose  loves  in  higher  love  endure  ; 
What  souls  possess  themselves  so  pure, 

Or  is  there  blessedness  like  theirs  ? 


COMMUNION    H V.M.N.  77 

COMFORT. 


MRS.    E.    B.    BROWNING. 


Speak  low  to  me,  my  Saviour,  low  and  sweet 
From  out  the  hallelujahs,  sweet  and  low, 
Lest  I  should  fear  and  fall,  and  miss  thee  so 
Who  art  not  missed  by  any  that  entreat. 
Speak  to  me  as  to  Mary  at  thy  feet,  — 
And  if  no  precious  g^ms  my  hands  bestow, 
Let  my  tears  drop  like  amber,  while  I  go 
In  reach  of  thy  divinest  voice  complete 
In  humanest  affection,  —  thus,  in  sooth, 
To  lose  the  sense  of  losing !     As  a  child, 
Whose  song-bird  seeks  the  wood  for  evermore, 
Is  sung  to  in  its  stead  by  mother's  mouth, — 
Till,  sinking  on  her  breast,  love-reconciled, 
He  sleeps  the  faster  that  he  wept  before. 


COMMUNION  HYMN. 

N.   L.    FROTHINGHAM. 

"  Do  this  in  remembrance  of  me." 

"  How  he  was  known  of  them  in  breaking  of  bread.' 

"  Remember  me,"  the  Saviour  said, 

On  that  forsaken  night, 
When  from  his  side  the  nearest  fled, 

And  death  was  close  in  sight. 

7* 


78 


THE    GOSPEL. 


'&" 


lg  ages'  track 
The  world  remembers  yet ; 
With  love  and  worship  gazes  back, 
And  never  can  forget. 


o* 


But  who  of  us  has  seen  his  face, 

Or  heard  the  words  he  said  ? 
And  none  can  now  his  look  retrace 

In  breaking  of  the  bread. 

O  blest  are  they,  who  have  not  seen, 

And  yet  believe  him  still ! 
They  know  him,  when  his  praise  they  mean, 

And  when  they  do  his  will. 

We  hear  his  word  along  our  way ; 

We  see  his  light  above  ; 
Remember  when  we  strive  and  pray, 

Remember  when  we  love. 


THE  MASTER. 


S.   D.   BOBBINS. 


Thou  art  our  Master  !  Thou  of  God  the  Son, 

Of  man  the  friend  ; 
By  thee  alone  the  victory  is  won  : 

Our  souls  defend ! 


Tin:    IfASTBH.  79 

Thou  art  the  Master!  Let  us  love  thy  word: 

Thy  spirit  give ! 
Let  us  obey  thee  as  our  risen  Lord, 

Obey,  and  live. 

Thou  art  our  Master  !  with  thy  cross,  thy  crown, 

Thou  Crucified  ! 
Now  from  thy  starry  throne  look  gently  down, 

With  us  abide ! 

Thou  art  our  Master !  through  the  narrow  way 

Thou  once  didst  tread, 
Lead  thy  disciples  upward  to  the  day ! 

Thou  living  Head! 

Thou  art  our  Master !  at  thy  feet  we  cast 

Our  burdens  now. 
The  yoke  of  Love  we  take  ;  O,  bind  us  fast ! 

To  thee  we  bow. 

Thou  art  our  Master !  through  our  earthly  home 

No  guide  but  thee  ! 
And  when  thy  kingdom  unto  us  shall  come, 

Our  servant  be  !  * 

*  Luke  xii.  37. 


89  THE    GOSPEL. 


HYMN  TO  JESUS. 

SYLVESTER  JUDD. 

O  Son  of  God  !  thy  children  we ; 

Train  us  in  holiness : 
As  thou  the  Father's  image  bore, 

Thine  own  on  us  impress. 

O  Bread  of  God!  our  natures  crave • 

The  lost  beatitude  : 
The  Father  gave  thee  meat  unknown  ; 

Give  us  thy  flesh  and  blood. 

O  Vine  of  God!  of  thee  bereft, 

Our  virtues  wilt  and  die : 
Thou  wert  the  Father's  tender  care  ; 

Shield  us  when  danger  's  nigh. 

O  Word  of  God !  thy  voice  we  hear, 

And  hail  the  truth  divine  ; 
To  thy  commandments,  broad  and  pure, 

Our  hearts  and  ways  incline. 

O  Love  of  God !  we  seek  to  dwell 

In  love,  and  God,  and  thee ; 
The  end  of  woes,  the  end  of  sins, 

Shall  love's  perfection  be. 


HYMN    TO    JESUS.  81 

Light  of  the  World  !  our  path  illume  ; 

The  shadowy  fear  disperse  ; 
Shine  on  these  realms  of  woe  and  sin ; 

Undo  the  heavy  curse. 

Water  of  Life  !  our  life's  sweet  spring  ; 

In  us  thy  stream  renew  ; 
On  lowly  grace  thy  grace  distil, 

Kindly  as  Hermon's  dew. 

O  Shepherd  !  guard  thy  little  flock  ; 

Keep  us  from  strife  and  guile  ; 
Serene  our  life  ;  be  our  life's  close 

Calm  as  a  summer  isle. 

O  Crucified!  we  share  thy  cross  ; 

Thy  passion  too  sustain  ; 
We  die  thy  death,  to  live  thy  life, 

And  rise  with  thee  again. 

O  Glorified  !  thy  glory  breaks  ; 

Our  new-born  spirits  sing ; 
Salvation  cometh  with  the  morn  ; 

Hope  spreads  an  heavenward  wing. 


82  THE  GOSPEL. 


"I  WILL  XOT  LEAVE  YOU  COMFORTLESS." 

MARGARET   FULLER  OSSOLI. 

0  Friend  divine !  this  promise  dear 
Falls  sweetly  on  the  weary  ear ! 
Often,  in  hours  of  sickening  pain, 

It  soothes  me  to  thy  rest  again. 

Might  I  a  true  disciple  be, 
Following  thy  footsteps  faithfully, 
Then  should  I  still  the  succor  prove 
Of  Him  who  gave  his  life  for  love. 

When  this  fond  heart  would  vainly  beat 
For  bliss  that  ne'er  on  earth  we  meet, 
For  perfect  sympathy  of  soul 
From  those  such  heavy  laws  control  ; 

When,  roused  from  passion's  ecstasy, 

1  see  the  dreams  that  filled  it  fly,  — 
Amid  my  bitter  tears  and  sighs 
Those  gentle  words  before  me  rise. 

With  aching  brows  and  feverish  brain 
The  founts  of  intellect  I  drain, 
And  con  with  over-anxious  thought 
What  poets  sung  and  heroes  wrought. 


"  I  WILL  NOT  LEAVE  YOU  COMFORTLE88."   S3 

Enchanted  with  their  deeds  and  lays, 
I  with  like  gems  would  deck  my  days ; 
No  fires  creative  in  me  burn, 
And,  humbled,  I  to  Thee  return. 

When  blackest  clouds  around  me  rolled 
Of  scepticism  drear  and  cold, 
When  love  and  hope  and  joy  and  pride 
Forsook  a  spirit  deeply  tried,  — 

My  reason  wavered  in  that  hour, 
Prayer,  too  impatient,  lost  its  power  ; 
From  thy  benignity  a  ray 
I  caught,  and  found  the  perfect  day. 

A  head  revered  in  dust  was  laid  ; 
For  the  first  time  I  watched  my  dead ; 
The  widow's  sobs  were  checked  in  vain, 
And  childhood's  tears  poured  down  like  rain. 

In  awe  I  gaze  on  that  dear  face, 
In  sorrow,  years  gone  by  retrace, 
When,  nearest  duties  most  forgot, 
I  might  have  blessed,  and  did  it  not ! 

Ignorant,  his  wisdom  I  reproved, 
Heedless,  passed  by  what  most  he  loved, 
Knew  not  a  life  like  his  to  prize, 
Of  ceaseless  toil  and  sacrifice. 


84  THE    GOSPEL. 

No  tears  can  now  that  hushed  heart  move, 
No  cares  display  a  daughter's  love ; 
The  fair  occasion  lost,  no  more 
Can  thoughts  more  just  to  thee  restore 

What  can  I  do  ?  and  how  atone 
For  all  I  've  done,  and  left  undone  ? 
Tearful  I  search  the  parting  words 
Which  the  beloved  John  records. 

"  Not  comfortless ! "  I  dry  my  eyes, 
My  duties  clear  before  me  rise  ;  — 
Before  thou  think' st  of  taste  or  pride, 
See  home-affections  satisfied ! 

Be  not  with  generous  thoughts  content, 
But  on  well-doing  constant  bent : 
When  self  seems  dear,  self-seeking  fair, 
Remember  this  sad  hour  in  prayer ! 

Though  all  thou  wishest  fly  thy  touch, 
Much  can  one  do  who  loveth  much. 
More  of  thy  spirit,  Jesus  !  give, 
Not  comfortless,  though  sad,  to  live. 

And  yet  not  sad,  if  I  can  know 
To  copy  Him  who  here  below 
Sought  but  to  do  his  Father's  will, 
Though  from  such  sweet  composure  still 


COMMUNION    HYMN.  86 

My  heart  be  far.     Wilt  thou  not  aid 
One  whose  best  hopes  on  thee  are  stayed  I 
Breathe  into  me  thy  perfect  love, 
And  guide  me  to  thy  rest  above  ! 


COMMUNION  HYMN. 

H.    L.    FROTHIN-GHAM. 

u  And  he  took  bread,  and  gave  thanks.*' 

The  Son  of  God  gave  thanks, 

Before  the  bread  he  broke : 
How  high  that  calm  devotion  ranks 

Among  the  words  he  spoke ! 

Thanks,  'mid  those  troubled  men ; 

Thanks,  in  that  dismal  hour ; 
The  world's  dark  prince  advancing  then 

In  all  his  rage  and  power. 

Thanks,  o'er  that  loafs  dread  sign  ; 

Thanks,  o'er  that  bitter  food ; 
And  o'er  the  cup,  that  was  not  wine, 

But  sorrow,  fear,  and  blood. 

8 


86  THE    GOSPEL. 

And  shall  our  griefs  resent 
What  God  appoints  as  best, 

When  he,  in  all  things  innocent, 
Was  yet  in  all  distressed  ? 

Shall  we  unthankful  be 

For  all  our  blessings  round, 

When  in  that  press  of  agony 

Such  room  for  thanks  he  found  ? 

O  shame  us,  Lord !  —  whate'er 
The  fortunes  of  our  days, — 

If,  suffering,  we  are  weak  to  bear, 
If,  favored,  slow  to  praise. 


HYMN. 


J.    PIERFOXT. 


"  And  when  they  had  sung  a  hymn,  the}r  went  out  into  the  Mount 
of  Olives."  —  Matthew  xxvi.  30. 


The  winds  are  hushed ;  the  peaceful  moon 

Looks  down  on  Zion's  hill ; 
The  city  sleeps ;  't  is  night's  calm  noon, 

And  all  the  streets  are  still,  — 


HYMN.  87 

Save  when,  along  the  shaded  walks, 

We  hear  the  watchman's  call, 
Or  the  guard's  footstep,  as  he  stalks 

In  moonlight  on  the  wall. 


How  soft,  how  holy,  is  this  light ! 

And  hark  !  a  mournful  song, 
As  gentle  as  these  dews  of  night, 

Floats  on  the  air  along. 


Affection's  wish,  devotion's  prayer, 
Are  in  that  holy  strain  ; 

'Tis  resignation,  not  despair; 
'T  is  triumph,  though  't  is  pain. 


'T  is  Jesus  and  his  faithful  few, 
That  pour  that  hymn  of  love  ; 

O  God !  may  we  the  song  renew 
Around  thy  board  above  ! 


88  THE    GOSPEL. 


CHRIST  IN  THE   GARDEN. 

J.    KEBLE.  —  CHRISTIAN   YEAK. 

"  Saying,  Father,  if  thou  be  willing,  remove  this  cup  from  me; 
nevertheless,  not  my  will,  but  thine,  be  done."  —  Luke  xxii.  42. 

0  Lord  my  God,  do  thou  thy  holy  will ! 

I  will  lie  still,— 

1  will  not  stir,  lest  I  forsake  thine  arm, 

And  break  the  charm 
"Which  lulls  me,  clinging  to  my  Father's  breast, 
In  perfect  rest. 

Wild  Fancy,  peace !  thou  must  not  me  beguile 

With  thy  false  smile  : 
I  know  thy  flatteries  and  thy  cheating  ways ; 

Be  silent,  Praise, 
Blind  guide  with  siren  voice,  and  blinding  all 

That  hear  thy  call. 

Come,  Self-devotion,  high  and  pure, 
Thoughts  that  in  thankfulness  endure, 
Though  dearest  hopes  are  faithless  found, 
And  dearest  hearts  are  bursting  round. 
Come,  Resignation,  spirit  meek, 
And  let  me  kiss  thy  placid  cheek, 
And  read,  in  thy  pale  eye  serene, 
Their  blessing  who  by  faith  can  wean 


CHRIST    IN    THE    GARDEN.  89 

Their  hearts  from  sense,  and  learn  to  love 
God  only,  and  the  joys  above. 

They  say,  who  know  the  life  divine, 

And  upward  gaze  with  eagle  eyne, 

That  by  each  golden  crown  on  high, 

Rich  with  celestial  jewelry, 

Which  for  our  Lord's  redeemed  is  set, 

There  hangs  a  radiant  coronet, 

All  gemmed  with  pure  and  living  light, 

Too  dazzling  for  a  sinners  sight, 

Prepared  for  virgin  souls,  and  them 

Who  seek  the  martyrs  diadem. 

Nor  deem,  who  to  that  bliss  aspire, 

Must  win  their  way  through  blood  and  fire. 

The  writhings  of  a  wounded  heart 

Are  fiercer  than  a  foeman's  dart. 

Oft  in  Life's  stillest  shade  reclining, 

In  desolation  unrepining, 

Without  a  hope  on  earth  to  find 

A  mirror  in  an  answering  mind, 

Meek  souls  there  are,  who  little  deem 

Their  daily  strife  an  angel's  theme, 

Or  that  the  rod  they  take  so  calm 

Shall  prove  in  heaven  a  martyr's  palm. 

And  there  are  souls  that  seem  to  dwell 
Above  this  earth,  —  so  rich  a  spell 

8* 


90  THE    GOSPEL. 

Floats  round  their  steps,  where'er  they  move, 

From  hopes  fulfilled  and  mutual  love. 

Such,  if  on  high  their  thoughts  are  set, 

Nor  in  the  stream  the  source  forget, 

If  prompt  to  quit  the  bliss  they  know, 

Following  the  Lamb  where'er  he  go, 

By  purest  pleasures  unbeguiled 

To  idolize  or  wife  or  child,  — 

Such  wedded  souls  our  God  shall  own 

For  faultless  virgins  round  his  throne. 

The  cross  on  Calvary 

Uplifted  high 
Beams  on  the  martyr  host,  a  beacon  light 

In  open  fight. 

To  the  still  wrestlings  of  the  lonely  heart 

He  doth  impart 
The  virtue  of  his  midnight  agony, 

When  none  was  nigh, 
Save  God  and  one  good  angel,  to  assuage 

The  tempest's  rage. 

Mortal !  if  life  smile  on  thee,  and  thou  find 

All  to  thy  mind, 
Think,  who  did  once  from  heaven  to  hell  descend, 

Thee  to  befriend : 
So  shalt  thou  dare  forego,  at  his  dear  call, 

Thy  best,  thine  all. 


THE    TWO    SAYINGS.  91 

"  O  Father!  not  my  will,  but  thine,  be  done!  n  — 

So  spake  the  Son. 
Be  this  our  charm,  mellowing  earth's  ruder  noise, 

Of  griefs  and  joys  ; 
That  we  may  cling  for  ever  to  thy  breast, 

In  perfect  rest ! 


THE   TWO   SAYINGS. 


MRS.    E.    B.    BROWSING. 


Two  sayings  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  beat, 
Like  pulses,  in  the  Church's  brow  and  breast ; 
And  by  them  we  find  rest  for  our  unrest, 
And,  heart-deep  in  salt  tears,  do  yet  entreat 
God's  fellowship,  as  if  on  heavenly  seat. 
The  first  is  Jesus  wept,  —  whereon  is  prest 
Full  many  a  sobbing  face  that  drops  its  best 
And  sweetest  waters  on  the  record  sweet :  — 
And  one  is  where  the  Christ  denied  and  scorned 
Looked  upon  Peter.     Oh,  to  render  plain, 
By  help  of  having  loved  a  little,  and  mourned, 
That  look  of  sovran  love  and  sovran  pain, 
Which  He  who  could  not  sin,  yet  suffered,  turned 
On  him  who  could  reject,  but  not  sustain ! 


USS  THE    GOSPEL. 

» 

THE    SAVIOUR'S   DYING   HOUR. 
mbs.  he>:a>-j. 

O  Son  of  Man! 
Shadows  of  earth  closed  round  thee  fearfully  ! 

AH  i:ra:  on  us  is  laid, 

All  the  deep  gloom. 
The  desolation  and  the  abandonment. 

The  dark  amaze  of  death. 

All  upon  Thee  too  fell, 

Redeemer  !  Son  of  Man  ! 

But  the  keen  pang 

Wherewith  the  silver  cord 
irth's  affection  from  the  soul  is  wrung.  — 
The  uptearing  oi  those  tendrils  which  have  grown 

Into  the  quick  strong  heart.  — 
This,  this,  the  passion  and  the  agony 

O:  battling  love  and  death. 

Surely  was  not  for  Thee, 

Holy  One  !   Son  of  God ! 

Yes,  my  Redeemer! 

E'en  this  cup  was  thine! 

Fond  wailing  voices  called  thy  spirit  back : 
E'en  midst  the  mighty  thoughts 
Of  that  last  crowning  hour. 

E'en  on  thine  awful  way  to  victory, 


THE    SAVIOUR'S    DYING     HOUR.  93 

Wildly  they  called  thee  back ! 
And  weeping  eyes  of  love 
Unto  thy  heart's  deep  core 
Pierced  through  the  folds  of  death's  mysterious 
veil; 
Sufferer !  thou  Son  of  Man  ! 

Mother-tears  were  mingled 

"With  thy  costly  blood-drops, 
In  the  shadow  of  the  atoning  cross ; 

And  the  friend,  the  faithful, 

He  that  on  thy  bosom, 
Thence  imbibing  heavenly  love,  had  lain,  — 

He,  a  pale  sad  watcher,  — 

Met  with  looks  of  anguish 
All  the  anguish  in  thy  last  meek  glance, 

Dying  Son  of  Man ! 

Oh  !  therefore  unto  thee, 

Thou  that  hast  known  all  woes 
Bound  in  the  girdle  of  mortality  ! 

Thou  that  wilt  lift  the  reed 

Which  storms  have  bruised, — 
To  thee  may  sorrow  through  each  conflict  cry ; 
And  in  that  tempest  hour  when  love  and  life 

Mysteriously  must  part, 

When  tearful  eyes 

Are  passionately  bent 
To  drink  earth's  last  fond  meaning  from  our  gaze, 

Then,  then  forsake  us  not ! 


94  THE    GOSPEL. 

Shed  on  our  spirits  then 
The  faith  and  deep  submissiveness  of  thine  ! 

Thou  that  didst  love, 

Thou  that  didst  weep  and  die, 
Thou  that  didst  rise,  a  victor  glorified ! 

Conqueror !  thou  Son  of  God ! 


THE   CRUCIFIXION. 


F.    H.    HEDGE. 


'T  was  the  day  when  God's  Anointed 
Died  for  us  the  death  appointed, 

Bleeding  on  the  dreadful  cross ; 
Day  of  darkness,  day  of  terror, 
Deadly  fruit  of  ancient  error, 

Nature's  fall,  and  Eden's  loss  ! 

Haste,  prepare  the  bitter  chalice ! 
Gentile  hate  and  Jewish  malice 

Lift  the  royal  victim  high,  — 
Like  the  serpent,  wonder-gifted, 
Which  the  Prophet  once  uplifted,  — 

For  a  sinful  world  to  die  ! 

Conscious  of  the  deed  unholy, 
Nature's  pulses  beat  more  slowly, 

And  the  sun  his  light  denied ; 


THE    CRUCIFIXION.  95 

Darkness  wrapped  the  sacred  city, 
And  the  earth  with  fear  and  pity 

Trembled  when  the  Just  One  died. 

It  is  finished,  Man  of  sorrows ! 
From  thy  cross  our  nature  borrows 

Strength  to  bear  and  conquer  thus. 
While  exalted  there  we  view  thee, 
Mighty  Sufferer,  draw  us  to  thee, 

Sufferer  victorious ! 

Not  in  vain  for  us  uplifted, 
Man  of  sorrows,  wonder-gifted ! 

May  that  sacred  symbol  be. 
Eminent  amid  the  ages, 
Guide  of  heroes  and  of  sages, 

May  it  guide  us  still  to  thee ! 

Still  to  thee,  whose  love  unbounded 
Sorrow's  deep  for  us  hath  sounded, 

Perfected  by  conflicts  sore. 
Glory  to  thy  cross  for  ever ! 
Star  that  points  our  high  endeavor 

Whither  thou  hast  gone  before. 


96  THE    GOSPEL. 


"DARKNESS   SHROUDED  CALVARY." 

SARAH   F.   ADAMS. 

Darkness  shrouded  Calvary, 

An  earthquake  rent  the  Temple's  veil ; 
Human  grief  and  human  fear 
Uttered  mournful  wail ; 
There  came  a  voice  like  light  athwart  the  skies, 
"  To-day  thou  'It  be  with  me  in  Paradise." 

Darkness  shrouds  humanity 

When  death  doth  sunder  heart  from  heart ; 
Human  love  and  human  hope 
Cannot  bear  to  part : 
Again  that  voice  is  heard  athwart  the  skies, 
"  To-day  thou  'It  be  with  me  in  Paradise." 


MARY  BY  THE   CROSS. 

W.   J.   FOX. 

Jews  were  wrought  to  cruel  madness ; 
Christians  fled  in  fear  and  sadness  ; 
Mary  stood  the  cross  beside : 

At  its  foot  her  foot  she  planted, 
By  the  dreadful  scene  undaunted, 
Till  the  gentle  Sufferer  died. 


SONNET.  97 

Poets  oft  have  sung  her  story, 
Painters  deeked  her  brow  with  glory, 
Priests  her  name  have  deified. 

But  no  worship,  song,  or  glory 
Touches  like  that  simple  story, — 
Mary  stood  the  cross  beside. 

And  when,  under  fierce  oppression, 

Goodness  suffers  like  transgression, 

Christ  again  is  crucified ; 

But  if  love  be  there,  true-hearted, 
By  no  grief  or  terror  parted, 

Mary  stands  the  cross  beside. 


SONNET. 

SACRED   OFFERING. 

John,  Chapter  xix. 


Stretched  on  the  cross,  with   mortal  woe  op- 
pressed, 
The   Son   of  Man  breathed  forth  his  parting 

sighs ; 
Darkness  o'erspread  the  earth ;  and  then  the  cries 
Of  smitten  hearts  were  heard,  and  nearer  pressed 

9 


98  THE    GOSPEL. 

His  mother,  and  the  follower  whom  he  loved. 

"  Mother,  behold  thy  son ! "  the  Saviour  said,  — 

"  Behold    thy   mother !  "     The   o'erwhelming 
dread 
Of  death  came  o'er  him ;  yet  his  pale  lips  moved 
With  love  and  mercy  still,  as  the  base  crowd 

Mocked  at  his  sufferings,  and  the  tumult  grew. 

"  Father,  forgive !  they  know  not  what  they  do !" 
Was  heard  amid  his  anguish,  and  aloud 
He  cried,  "'T  is  finished!"  bowed  his  hallowed 

head, 
And  to  his  God  the  chastened  spirit  fled. 


LOOKING  UNTO  JESUS. 


MRS.    MILES. 


Thou  who  didst  stoop  below, 

To  drain  the  cup  of  woe, 
And  wear  the  form  of  frail  mortality, 

Thy  blessed  labors  done, 

Thy  crown  of  victory  won, 
Hast  passed  from  earth,  —  passed  to  thy  home 
on  high. 

It  was  no  path  of  flowers, 
Through  this  dark  world  of  ours, 
Beloved  of  the  Father,  thou  didst  tread  ; 


LINES   WRITTEN  AT  THE   HOLY  SEPULCHRE.      99 

And  shall  we,  in  dismay. 
Shrink  from  the  narrow  way, 
When  clouds  and  darkness  are  around  it  spread? 

O  Thou,  who  art  our  life, 

Be  with  us  through  the  strife ; 
Thy  own  meek  head  by  rudest  storms  was  bowed ; 

Raise  thou  our  eyes  above, 

To  see  a  Father's  love 
Beam,  like  a  bow  of  promise,  through  the  cloud. 

E'en  through  the  awful  gloom 
Which  hovers  o'er  the  tomb, 

That  light  of  love  our  guiding  star  shall  be ; 
Our  spirits  shall  not  dread 
The  shadowy  way  to  tread, 

Friend,  Guardian,  Saviour,  which  doth  lead  to 
thee. 


LDsES  WRITTEN  AT   THE   TEMPLE   OF  THE 
HOLY   SEPULCHRE. 

COPIED  FROM  A  VERY  OLD  EDITION  OF  SAXDYS'S  TRAVELS. 

Saviour  of  mankind,  Man  !  Emmanuel ! 
Who,  sinless,  died  for  sin ;  w7ho  vanquished  hell ; 
The  first-fruits  of  the  grave ;  whose  life  did  give 
Light  to  our  darkness ;  in  wThose  death  we  live ; 


100  THE    GOSPEL. 

O,  strengthen  thou  my  faith,  correct  my  will, 
So  that  the  latter  death  may  not  devour 
My  soul  sealed  with  thy  seal.  So  in  the  hour 
When  thou,  whose  body  sanctified  this  tomb, 
Unjustly  judged,  a  glorious  Judge  shall  come 
To  judge  the  world  with  justice,  by  that  sign 
I  may  be  known,  and  entertained  for  thine. 


MARY  AND  JOHN,  BEFORE  THE  RESUR- 
RECTION. 


S.   G.   BULFINCH. 


My  mother !  in  the  awful  hour 

When  darkness  o'er  us  lay, 
While,  fainting  by  the  Blest  One's  cross, 

My  arm  became  thy  stay, 
Did  not  his  gentle  voice  then  seal 

The  bond  for  thee  and  me, 
And  give  me  for  the  coming  time 

To  be  a  son  to  thee  ? 

O  privilege  of  all  most  high  ! 

O  boon  of  all  most  dear  ! 
Still,  still,  in  sweet,  sad  memory 

That  voice  I  seem  to  hear. 
Then  come,  my  mother  !  share  the  cot 

Thy  Jesus  oft  hath  blest, 


MARY    AND    JOHN.  101 

Far  hence,  where  blue  Gennesareth 
Expands  his  peaceful  breast. 

The  boat  lies  idle  on  the  strand, 

The  net  hangs  by  the  wall ; 
In  happier  hour,  when  hope  was  high, 

For  him  I  left  them  all. 
Now,  for  his  sake  and  thine,  I  turn 

Back  to  that  quiet  sea. 
Farewell,  ye  proud  and  guilty  towers ! 

My  mother !  come  with  me ! 

There  oft,  when  eve's  advancing  shades 

O'er  hill  and  lake  are  thrown, 
Will  we  recall  the  varied  past, 

And  weep  for  hopes  now  gone. 
Then  will  we  waken  slumbering  faith, 

And  lift  our  brightening  eyes 
To  Him,  who  e'en  from  this  deep  gloom 

Can  bid  the  light  arise. 

Yes,  we  will  trust !     My  thought  retains 

Words  of  mysterious  power 
The  Loved  One  spoke,  as  o'er  his  soul 

Darkened  the  destined  hour. 
That  he  should  rise  again !     O  joy  ! 

But  ah !  for  hope  too  dear  ! 
Some  mystic  meaning  sure  was  there, 

That  time  shall  render  clear. 

9* 


102  THE    GOSPEL. 

Ferchance  another,  in  his  might, 

With  burning  words  shall  come, 
And  lead  repentant  Israel  forth 

To  mourn  above  his  tomb. 
Perchance  his  rising  will  be  there 

Where  we  with  him  shall  rise, 
To  meet  the  Father's  smile  of  love 

In  yonder  holy  skies ! 

But  now,  the  night  in  watching  spent, 

How  glorious  breaks  the  day ! 
The  sisters  hasten  to  the  tomb, 

The  last  sad  rites  to  pay ; 
And  lo !  our  brethren's  scattered  band 

Are  gathering  mournfully,  — 
All  here  except  that  sacred  form 

We  never  more  may  see  ! 


SONNET. 


SACEED    OFFEEING. 


Matthew,  Chapter  xxviii. 


At  early  morn  before  the  Saviour's  tomb 

The  holy  women  wept.     The  conscious  world 

Shook  with  an  earthquake,  and  amid  the  gloom 
An  angel  form  appeared,  and  instant  hurled 


THE    WALK    TO    EMMAUS.  103 

The  mighty  stone  away.     Immortal  bloom 

Was  round  about  him,  and  as  lightning  shone 
His  eyes  and  polished  brow.     The  soldiers,  come 

To  guard  the  sacred  sepulchre,  fell  down, 
Like  dead  men  to  the  earth,  o'ercome  with  fear. 

Then  spoke  the  angel  messenger :   "  I  know 
Ye  seek  the  Christ ;  fear  not,  he  is  not  here, 

For  he  is  risen,  as  he  promised,  —  lo! 
I  've  told  you,  —  and  he  goes  to  Galilee  ; 
There  once  again  the  Saviour  ye  shall  see." 


THE  WALK  TO  EMMAUS. 


It  happened  on  a  solemn  eventide, 

Soon  after  He  that  was  our  Surety  died, 

Two  bosom  friends,  each  pensively  inclined, 

The  scene  of  all  those  sorrows  left  behind, 

Sought  their  own  village,  busied  as  they  went 

In  musings  worthy  of  the  great  event : 

They  spake  of  him  they  loved,  of  him  whose  life, 

Though  blameless,  had  incurred  perpetual  strife, 

Whose  deeds  had  left,  in  spite  of  hostile  arts, 

A  deep  memorial  graven  on  their  hearts. 

A  recollection,  like  a  vein  of  ore, 

The  farther  traced,  enriched  them  still  the  more  ; 


104  THE    GOSPEL. 

They  thought  him,  and  they  justly  thought  him, 

one 
Sent  to  do  more  than  he  appeared  to  have  done, — 
To  exalt  a  people,  and  to  place  them  high 
Above  all  else, —  and  wondered  he  should  die. 
Ere  yet  they  brought  their  journey  to  an  end, 
A  stranger  joined  them,  courteous  as  a  friend, 
And  asked  them,  with  a  kind,  engaging  air, 
"What  their  affliction  was,  and  begged  a  share. 
Informed,  he  gathered  up  the  broken  thread, 
And,  truth  and  wisdom  gracing  all  he  said, 
Explained,  illustrated,  and  searched  so  well 
The  tender  theme  on  which  they  chose  to  dwell, 
That,  reaching  home,  "  The  night,"  they  said,  "  is 

near ; 
We  must  not  now  be  parted,  —  sojourn  here." 
The  new  acquaintance  soon  become  a  guest, 
And,  made  so  welcome  at  their  simple  feast, 
He  blest  the  bread,  but  vanished  at  the  word, 
And  left  them  both  exclaiming,  "  'T  was  the  Lord! 
Did  not  our  hearts  feel  all  he  deigned  to  say  ? 
Did  they  not  burn  within  us  by  the  way  ?  " 


THE    ASCENSION.  105 


THE   ASCENSION. 


Why  is  thy  face  so  lit  with  smiles, 

Mother  of  Jesus,  why  ? 
And  wherefore  is  thy  beaming  look 

So  fixed  upon  the  sky  ? 

From  out  thine  overflowing  eyes 
Bright  lights  of  gladness  part, 

As  though  some  gushing  fount  of  joy 
Had  broken  in  thy  heart. 

His  rising  form  on  Olivet 

A  summers  shadow  cast ; 

The  branches  of  the  hoary  trees 

Drooped  as  the  shadow  passed. 

The  silver  cloud  hath  sailed  away, 
The  skies  are  blue  and  free ; 

The  road  that  vision  took  is  now 
Sunshine  and  vacancy. 

The  feet  which  thou  hast  kissed  so  oft, 
Those  living  feet,  are  gone  ; 

Mother !  thou  canst  but  stoop  and  kiss 
Their  print  upon  the  stone. 


106  THE    GOSPEL. 

Yes  !  he  hath  left  thee,  mother  dear ! 

His  throne  is  far  above  ; 
How  canst  thou  be  so  full  of  joy 

"When  thou  hast  lost  thy  Love  ? 

O  surely  earth's  poor  sunshine  no 
To  thee  mere  gloom  appears, 

When  he  is  gone  who  was  its  light 
For  three  and  thirty  years. 

Why  do  not  thy  sweet  hands  detain 
His  feet  upon  their  way  ? 

O,  why  doth  not  the  mother  speak, 
And  bid  her  Son  to  stay  ? 

Ah,  no !  thy  love  is  rightful  love, 
From  all  self-seeking  free  ; 

The  change  that  is  such  gain  to  him 
Can  be  no  loss  to  thee  ! 

'T  is  sweet  to  feel  our  Saviour's  love, 
To  feel  his  presence  near  ; 

Yet  loyal  love  his  glory  holds 

A  thousand  times  more  dear. 

Ah  !  never  is  our  love  so  pure 
As  when  refined  by  pain, 

Or  when  God's  glory  upon  earth 
Finds  in  our  loss  its  gain ! 


THE    CHRISTIAN    THRONES.  107 


THE   CHRISTIAN  THRONES. 

W.  P.  LDHT. 

"  Then  answered  Teter,  and  said  unto  him,  Behold,  we  have  for- 
saken all,  and  followed  thee;  what  shall  we  have  therefore? 

'•  And  Jesus  said  unto  them,  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  that  ye  which 
have  followed  me,  in  the  regeneration,  when  the  Son  of  Man  shall  sit 
on  the  throne  of  his  glory,  ye  also  shall  sit  upon  twelve  thrones,  judg- 
ing the  twelve  tribes  of  Israel."'  —  Matthew  xix.  27,  28. 

u  O  not  in  vain,  my  chosen  band, 

Have  ye  deserted  all  for  me ; 
Ye  "re  held  by  an  almighty  hand, 

That  guides  the  car  of  destiny. 
The  awe-struck  nations,  as  ye  go 
In  triumph  through  the  earth,  shall  bow. 

"  Thrones  shall  be  yours,  —  not  earthly  thrones, 
The  crumbling  seats  of  human  pride, — 

The  King  of  kings  shall  give  you  crowns, 
And  raise  you  honored  to  my  side. 

Where'er  Messiah's  glory  spreads, 

Reflected  light  shall  grace  your  heads." 

It  was  no  chief  in  war-array, 

Whose  battle-share  had  ploughed  the  soil 
Of  many  a  realm,  thus  gave  away 

The  harvest  of  his  bloody  toil. 
These  words  of  hope  by  Him  were  said 
Who  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head. 


108 


THE    GOSPEL. 


Though  humble  was  his  earthly  state 
From  whom  the  cheering  promise  came, 

And  mean  as  was  their  seeming  fate 

Who  heard  announced  their  future  fame, 

The  advancing  ages  yet  beheld 

The  wondrous  prophecy  fulfilled. 

Saviour  !  awhile  to  death  submit ; 

Let  frantic  foes  above  thee  rave ; 
Hell  and  the  world  in  vain  unite,  — 

Thy  gate  of  triumph  is  the  grave. 
The  worm  thy  fellow  once,  but  now 
Heaven's  diadem  adorns  thy  brow. 

And  ye  who  stood  around  the  tree, 
And  knew  his  sufferings  full  well,  — 

Ye  trusted  that  it  had  been  he 
Should  have  redeemed  lost  Israel. 

Ye  trusted  !  Have  ye  lost  that  trust  ? 

The  cross  is  borne,  —  the  tomb  is  burst. 

Your  hopes  revive ;  but  not  at  once 
Must  ye  the  promised  height  attain  ; 

They  who  would  share  the  recompense 
Must  drink  the  cup  of  shame  and  pain,— 

Must  bear  to  be  tormented,  spurned,  — 

Must  give  their  bodies  to  be  burned ! 

The  cup  is  drained  ;  in  many  a  land 
Your  scattered  limbs  dishonored  lie ; 


THE    CHRISTIAN    THRONE8.  109 

And  mustering  fast  at  Heaven's  command, 

The  ministers  of  vengeance  fly  ; 
The  blood-stained  cross  they  bear  on  high, 
Blest  symbol  now  of  victory. 

What  shriek  is  that  which  rends  the  air? 

Jerusalem,  with  streaming  eyes, 
Utters  imploringly  her  cry, 

And  looks  for  safety  to  the  skies. 
Too  late,  alas  !  she  seeks  her  good ; 
Her  garments  are  defiled  with  blood. 

God's  holy  prophets  she  hath  slain,  — 
From  God's  own  Son  she  turned  away ; 

Her  corse  lies  mangled  on  the  plain, — 
The  eagles  gather  to  their  prey. 

They  flap  in  triumph  o'er  the  dead; 

Jerusalem !  thy  glory  's  fled  ! 

The  Roman  Caesars  rule  the  world  ; 

Jehovah's  sway  is  given  to  Jove  ; 
Another  standard  is  unfurled, — 

The  eagle  cowers  to  the  dove, — 
Before  the  nation's  wondering  eyes 
The  Apostolic  Thrones  arise. 

The  Northern  whirlwind  sweeps  in  vain 

O'er  the  fair  fields  of  Italy , 
These  thrones  untouched  by  Goth  remain, 

And  Vandal  vengeance  passes  by ; 
10 


110 


THE    GOSPEL. 


Christ  and  his  holy  twelve  command 
The  homage  of  the  barbarous  band. 


iov 


Europe  awhile,  struck  with  dismay, 
Saw  in  her  sky  the  Crescent's  light  ; 

It  faded  'midst  the  blaze  of  day, 
It  only  decks  the  brow  of  night. 

Where  science,  art,  and  freedom  shine 

The  Gospel  mingles  light  divine. 

To  unknown  shores,  truth's  guiding  star 
Lights  the  discoverer  o'er  the  sea  ; 

To  Western  wilds  it  points  afar, 
The  future  empire  of  the  free ; 

And  here,  in  freedom's  chosen  land, 

The  Christian  Thrones  exalted  stand. 

The  ocean  islands  catch  the  light 

Which  on  their  gloom  in  glory  breaks ; 

And  superstition,  with  affright, 

Through  all  her  vast  dominions  quakes. 

The  regions  that  have  felt  her  rod 

Must  be  surrendered  back  to  God. 

It  comes, — the  long  predicted  day, 
When  all  mankind,  with  one  accord, 

Shall  fling  their  idol  gods  away, 
And  pay  due  homage  to  the  Lord ! 

While  earthly  states  to  ruin  tend, 

The  Christian  Thrones  shall  know  no  end. 


PART  IV. 

MEDITATION,  PRAYER,  AND  PRAISE. 


HOLY  BAPTISM. 

J.   KEBLE.  —  CHRISTIAN  YEAR. 

Where  is  it  mothers  learn  their  love  ? 
In  every  church  a  fountain  springs, 
O'er  which  the  Eternal  Dove 
Hovers  on  softest  wings. 

What  sparkles  in  that  lucid  flood 
Is  water  by  gross  mortals  eyed : 
But  seen  by  faith,  't  is  blood 
Out  of  a  dear  Friend's  side. 

A  few  calm  words  of  faith  and  prayer, 
A  few  bright  drops  of  holy  dew, 
Shall  work  a  wonder  there, 
Earth's  charmers  never  knew. 


112  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

O  happy  arms,  where  cradled  lies, 
And  ready  for  the  Lord's  embrace, 
That  precious  sacrifice, 
The  darling  of  his  grace  ! 

Blest  eyes,  that  see  the  smiling  gleam 
Upon  the  slumbering  features  glow, 
When  the  life-giving  stream 
Touches  the  tender  brow ! 

Or  when  the  holy  cross  is  signed, 
And  the  young  soldier  duly  sworn 
With  true  and  fearless  mind 
To  serve  the  Virgin-born. 

But  happiest  ye,  who  sealed  and  blest 
Back  to  your  arms  your  treasure  take, 
With  Jesus'  mark  impressed, 
To  nurse  for  Jesus'  sake : 

To  whom  —  as  if  in  hallowed  air 
Ye  knelt  before  some  awful  shrine  — 
His  innocent  gestures  wear 
A  meaning  half  divine  : 

By  whom  Love's  daily  touch  is  seen 

In  strengthening  form  and  freshening  hue, 
In  the  fixed  brow  serene, 
The  deep  yet  eager  view. 


BABY    CARL.  113 

Who  taught  thy  pure  and  even  breath 
To  come  and  go  with  such  sweet  grace  ? 
Whence  thy  reposing  faith, 
Though  in  our  frail  embrace? 


O  tender  gem,  and  full  of  heaven ! 
Not  in  the  twilight  stars  on  high, 
Not  in  moist  flowers  at  evtn, 
See  we  our  God  so  nigh. 


Sweet  one,  make  haste  and  know  Him  too, 
Thine  own  adopting  Father  love, 
That  like  thine  earliest  dew 
Thy  dying  sweets  may  prove. 


BABY   CARL. 


MRS.   S.   F.   CLArr. 


Out  from  clouds  of  fear  and  darkness, 
Clothed  in  sunbeams,  thou  didst  fall, 
Filling  all  the  house  with  brightness 

At  thy  coming, 

Baby  Carl ! 
Light  mysterious  lingers  with  thee, 
From  beyond  the  prison  wall 
That  our  hands  of  clay  have  builded 
10* 


114  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

Round  thy  spirit, 
Baby  Carl! 

When  thou  smilest,  art  thou  hearing 
Some  mysterious  angel  call  ? 
Or  do  bright  celestial  visions 

Float  about  thee, 

Baby  Carl? 
By  thy  beauty  and  thy  sweetness 
Thou  dost  hold  all  hearts  in  thrall ; 
Willing  hands  obey  the  mandates 

Of  imperious 

Baby  Carl. 

Underneath  thy  folded  eyelids 
Creep  no  phantoms  to  appall ; 
Smile-wreathed  dreams  betray  no  glimpses 

Of  life's  battle, 

Baby  Carl. 
Time  shall  bear  the  conflict  to  thee ; 
Late  or  soon,  it  comes  to  all ; 
Veiled  a  while  in  love  paternal 

From  thy  vision, 

Baby  Carl! 

Clouds  of  care  shall  close  about  thee, 
Fear  shall  make  thy  heart  to  quail ; 
Powerless  is  our  love  to  shield  thee 

From  the  combat, 

Baby  Carl. 


WEST'S  PICTURE  OF  THE  INFANT  SAMUEL.      115 

Ere  thy  innocence  forsakes  thee, 

Or  the  angel-watches  fail, 

May  the  Father's  love  recall  thee 

Back  to  heaven, 

Baby  Carl! 


WEST'S  PICTURE   OF  THE  INFANT  SAMUEL. 


EniRAIM  PEABODY. 


In  childhood's  spring,  —  ah,  blessed  spring !  — 

(As  flowers  closed  up  at  even 
Unfold  in  morning's  earliest  beam,) 

The  heart  unfolds  to  Heaven. 
Ah,  blessed  child  !  that  trustingly 

Adores,  and  loves,  and  fears, 
And  to  a  Father's  voice  replies, 

Speak,  Lord !  thy  servant  hears. 

When  youth  shall  come, — ah,  blessed  youth! 

If  still  the  pure  heart  glows, 
And  in  the  world  and  word  of  God 

Its  Maker's  language  knows ; 
If  in  the  night  and  in  the  day, 

'Midst  youthful  joys  or  fears, 
The  trusting  heart  can  answer  still, 

Speak,  Lord !  thy  servant  hears. 


116  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

When  age  shall  come,  —  ah,  blessed  age ! 

If  in  its  lengthening  shade, 
When  life  grows  faint,  and  earthly  lights 

Recede,  and  sink,  and  fade,  — 
Ah,  blessed  age  !  if  then  heaven's  light 

Dawns  on  the  closing  eye, 
And  faith  unto  the  call  of  God 

Can  answer,  Here  am  I ! 


TO  MY   GUARDIAN  ANGEL. 
(for  children.) 

FABER. 

Dear  angel !  ever  at  my  side, 

How  loving  must  thou  be, 
To  leave  thy  home  in  heaven  to  guard 

A  little  child  like  me  ! 

Thy  beautiful  and  shining  face 

I  see  not,  though  so  near ; 
The  sweetness  of  thy  soft,  low  voice 

I  am  too  deaf  to  hear. 

I  cannot  feel  thee  touch  my  hand 
With  pressure  light  and  mild, 


LINES    TO    D.    G.    T.    OF    BHBRWOODi  117 

To  check  mc,  as  my  mother  did 
When  I  was  but  a  child. 

But  I  have  felt  thee  in  my  thoughts 

Fighting  with  sin  for  me ; 
And  when  my  heart  loves  God,  perhaps 

The  sweetness  is  from  thee. 

And  when,  dear  spirit,  I  kneel  down 

Morning  and  night  to  prayer, 
Something  there  is  within  my  heart 

Which  tells  me  thou  art  there. 

And  thou  in  life's  last  hour  wilt  bring 

A  fresh  supply  of  grace, 
And  afterwards  wilt  let  me  kiss 

Thy  beautiful,  bright  face. 


LINES  TO  D.   G.  T.  OF   SHERWOOD. 

MRS.   31.   G.   IIOKSFORD. 

Blessings  on  thee,  noble  boy! 

With  thy  sunny  eyes  of  blue, 
Speaking  in  their  cloudless  depths 

Of  a  spirit  pure  and  true. 


118  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

In  thy  thoughtful  look  and  calm, 
In  thy  forehead  broad  and  high, 

We  have  seemed  to  meet  again 
One  whose  home  is  in  the  sky. 

Thou  to  earth  art  still  a  stranger, 

To  life's  tumult  and  unrest ; 
Angel-visitants  alone 

Stir  the  fountains  in  thy  breast. 

Thou  hast  yet  no  Past  to  shadow 
With  a  fear  thy  Future's  light, 

And  the  present  spreads  before  thee 
Boundless  as  the  infinite. 

But  each  passing  hour  must  waken 

Energies  that  slumber  now, 
Manhood  with  its  fire  and  action 

Stamp  that  fair,  unfurrowed  brow. 

Into  life's  sublime  arena, 

Opening  through  the  world's  broad  mart, 
Bear  thy  mother's  gentle  spirit, 

And  her  kind  and  loving  heart. 

With  exalted  hope  and  purpose, 
To  the  great  and  good  aspire ; 

Downward,  in  unsullied  glory 
Hand  the  honor  of  thy  sire. 


LINES    WRITTEN    IN    A    PRAYER-BOOK.  119 

With  that  love  for  truth  and  justice 

After  annals  shall  declare 
Highest  proof  of  moral  greatness, 

Nobly  live  and  nobly  dare. 

Cloudless  pass  thine  infant  days; 

Childhood  bring  thee  naught  but  joy ; 
Manhood,  thought  and  dignity  : 

Blessings  on  thee,  noble  boy ! 


WRITTEN  IN  A  PRAYER-BOOK  GIVEN  TO  MY 
DAUGHTER. 


BERNARD    RARTOX. 


My  creed  requires  no  form  of  prayer ; 

Yet  would  I  not  condemn 
Those  who  adopt  with  pious  care 

Their  use  as  aids  to  them. 

One  God  hath  fashioned  them  and  me ; 

One  Spirit  is  our  guide  ; 
For  each,  alike,  upon  the  tree 

One  common  Saviour  died ! 

Each  the  same  trumpet-call  shall  wake, 
To  face  one  judgment-seat ; 

God  give  us  grace,  for  Jesus'  sake, 
In  the  same  heaven  to  meet ! 


120  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 


THE   SOUL. 


K.   C.   WATEKSTON. 


Why  was  this  ponderous  planet  hung  in  air, 
With  grandeur  robed,  and  crowned  with  beauty 

fair? 
Hear  ye  the  voice  which  whispers  from  afar, 
Speaks  in  each  breeze,  is  echoed  from  each  star! 
For  Man  the  myriad  wheels  of  Nature  roll ; 
He  is  the  central  sun,  the  Living  Soul. 

View  the  glad  earth,  —  her  oceans  and  her  rills, 
Her  verdant  valleys  and  her  vine-clad  hills ; 
Behold  with  rapture  all  that  meets  thy  sight, 
Beaming  with  love,  and  touched  with  heavenly 

light; 
But  know  that  earth's  magnificence  combined, 
Shrinks  to  a  point,  when  balanced  with  the  Mind  ! 

Let  thy  free  thought  go  forth,  and  nobly  dare 
To  pierce  high  heaven,  and  view  each  splendor 

there, 
Draw  the  bright  curtain  from  creation's  face, 
And,  trembling,  gaze  through  boundless  fields  of 

space ; 
Yet  feel  that  those  vast  scenes  before  thee  brought 
Are  not  so  wondrous  as  thy  Power  of  Thought ! 


the  sour..  121 

0  Thou,  who  "spake  creation  into  birth," 
Then  formed  the  Soui  as  sovereign  of  the  earth, 
Naught  is  so  vast  in  thy  majestic  plan, 
As  thine  own  image  symbolized  in  man ! 
Teach  us  to  know,  and  humbly  to  revere 
The  mighty  marvels  thou  hast  centred  here; 
To  bow  with  awe  before  each  inward  light, 
The  sense  of  wrong,  the  consciousness  of  right. 
The  aspirations  which  to  heaven  would  soar,  — 
The  power  to  love,  contemplate,  and  adore  ; 
Mysterious  thought,  which  with  an  eagle  glance 
Measures  the  depth  of  infinite  expanse  ; 
Immortal  hope,  that  may  for  ever  shine ;  — 
These  live  within,  and  burn  with  power  divine  ! 

Arouse  thee,  Soul !  and  turn  thy  piercing  eye 
On  thine  own  inward  being !     Learn  the  high 
And  holy  purposes  for  which  on  earth 
Jehovah  gave  thy  wondrous  spirit  birth : 
Ponder  each  heavenly  hope,  each  earthly  strife, 
And  know  the  long  —  forever  —  of  thy  life  ! 

Up !  child  of  earth,  and,  wondering,  behold 
This  world  of  thought.     Let  all  its  powers  unfold 
Before  thine  awe-struck  vision.     Guard  with  care 
The  faintest  spark  which  God  has  kindled  there ; 
Let  no  untimely  frost,  nor  blight  of  sin, 
Blast  the  immortal  life  which  buds  within ! 
11 


122  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 


THE  BUILDING   OF  THE  HOUSE. 

CHARLES  MACKAY. 

I  have  a  wondrous  house  to  build, 
A  dwelling,  humble  yet  divine  ; 
A  lowly  cottage  to  be  filled 

With  all  the  jewels  of  the  mine. 
How  shall  I  build  it  strong  and  fair,  — 
This  noble  house,  this  lodging  rare, 

So  small  and  modest,  yet  so  great  ? 
How  shall  I  fill  its  chambers  bare 
"With  use,  with  ornaments,  with  state  ? 

My  God  hath  given  the  stone  and  clay  ; 

'T  is  I  must  fashion  them  aright ; 
'T  is  I  must  mould  them  day  by  day, 

And  make  my  labor  my  delight ; 
This  cot,  this  palace,  this  fair  home, 
This  pleasure-house,  this  holy  dome, 

Must  be  in  all  proportions  fit, 
That  heavenly  messengers  may  come 

To  lodge  with  him  who  tenants  it. 

No  fairy  bower  this  house  must  be, 
To  totter  at  each  gale  that  starts, 

But  of  substantial  masonry, 
Symmetrical  in  all  its  parts : 


THE    BUILDING    OF    THE    HOUSE.  123 

Fit  in  its  strength  to  stand  sublime, 
For  seventy  years  of  mortal  time, 

Defiant  of  the  storm  and  rain, 
And  well  attempered  to  the  clime 

In  every  cranny,  nook,  and  pane. 

I  '11  build  it  so,  that  if  the  blast 

Around  it  whistle  loud  and  long, 
The  tempest  when  its  rage  has  passed 

Shall  leave  its  rafters  doubly  strong. 
I  '11  build  it  so  that  travellers  by 
Shall  view  it  with  admiring  eye, 

For  its  commodiousness  and  grace : 
Firm  on  the  ground,  — straight  to  the  sky, — 

A  meek,  but  goodly  dwelling-place. 

Thus  noble  in  its  outward  form, 

Within  I  '11  build  it  clean  and  white  ; 
Not  cheerless  cold,  but  happy  warm, 

And  ever  open  to  the  light. 
No  tortuous  passages  or  stair, 
No  chamber  foul,  or  dungeon  lair, 

No  gloomy  attic,  shall  there  be, 
But  wide  apartments,  ordered  fair, 

And  redolent  of  purity. 

With  three  compartments  furnished  well, 
The  house  shall  be  a  home  complete ; 

Wherein,  should  circumstance  rebel, 
The  humble  tenant  may  retreat. 


124  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

The  first,  a  room  wherein  to  deal 
With  men  for  human  nature's  weal, 

A  room  where  he  may  work  or  play, 
And  all  his  social  life  reveal 

In  its  pure  texture,  day  by  day. 

The  second,  for  his  wisdom  sought, 

Where,  with  his  chosen  book  or  friend, 
He  may  employ  his  active  thought 

To  virtuous  or  exalted  end. 
A  chamber  lofty  and  serene, 
With  a  door-window  to  the  green, 

Smooth-shaven  sward,  and  arching  bowers, 
Where  lore,  or  talk,  or  song  between 

May  gild  his  intellectual  hours. 

The  third  an  oratory  dim, 

But  beautiful,  where  he  may  raise, 
Unheard  of  men,  his  daily  hymn 

Of  love  and  gratitude  and  praise  ; 
Where  he  may  revel  in  the  light 
Of  things  unseen  and  infinite, 

And  learn  how  little  he  may  be, 
And  yet  how  awful  in  thy  sight, 

Ineffable  Eternity ! 

Such  is  the  house  that  I  must  build ; 
This  is  the  cottage,  this  the  dome, 
And  this  the  palace,  treasure-filled, 
For  an  immortal's  earthly  home. 


125 


O  noble  work  of  toil  and  care ! 
O  task  most  difficult  and  rare ! 

O  simple  but  most  arduous  plan ! 
To  raise  a  dwelling-place  so  fair, 

The  sanctuary  of  a  Man. 


XEW  YEAR'S  DAY. 


VT.   B.   O.   TEABODY. 


How  fast  the  rushing  files  of  years 

Move  on  their  stern  array! 
The  messenger  of  joy  and  tears, 

Of  rising  or  decay. 
While  many  a  weary  heart  grows  cold 
To  see  how  soon  the  tale  is  told, 
The  young  heart  wakes, — the  young  eye  seems 
To  catch  new  brightness  from  the  gleams 
Of  glorious  and  reviving  beams 

That  crown  the  New  Year's  day. 

This  day  reminds  us  of  the  past, 

When  young  existence  ran, 
A  radiant  current,  bright  and  fast, 

Before  the  storms  began, 
And  threw  the  shadow  of  their  wrath 
Across  the  brightness  of  our  path, 
11* 


126  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

To  cloud  the  visions,  sweet  and  strange, 
Of  youthful  fancy  in  its  range, 
And  teach  us  what  a  dreary  change 
It  is  —  to  be  a  man. 

Bright  as  the  good  old  winter  blaze 
The  high  remembrance  burns, 

Soon  as  one  glimpse  of  early  days 
The  weary  soul  discerns. 

The  rising  of  the  New  Year's  sun 

Brings  back  those  pleasures,  one  by  one ; 

The  early  "wish,"  —  the  glad  reply 

Of  little  voices  ringing  high, 

Before  the  dawn  was  in  the  sky,  — 
The  very  sound  returns. 

Then,  all  that  day,  the  sparkle  played 

In  every  youthful  eye  ; 
The  stern  -old  teacher  kindly  laid 

His  week-day  terrors  by. 
The  New  Year's  wish  was  warmly  given  ; 
There  was  no  chill  but  that  of  heaven, 
To  check  the  free  and  joyous  glow 
Of  young  emotions  in  their  flow ! 
And  even  the  wild  winds  moaned  low 

Through  all  the  frozen  sky. 

And  when,  around  the  sounding  blaze, 
The  evening  circle  spread, 


127 


The  firelight  cast  on  every  face 

Its  dee})  and  radiant  red  ; 
We  talked  of  darkness  and  its  powers, 
Of  ghosts  that  walked  in  shivering  towers, 
Till,  listening  to  the  tales  of  wonder, 
Each  sound  was  like  the  startling  thunder, 
And  our  young  hearts  were  rent  asunder, 

In  that  delighted  dread. 

Like  one  who  from  a  distant  land 

Returns,  his  home  to  see, 
And  starts,  to  see  the  stranger  stand 

Beneath  his  father's  tree, 
To  us  the  coming  New  Year's  day 
Tells  but  of  pleasure  far  away ; 
The  day,  without  the  joy,  returns  ; 
The//*e,  but  not  the  bosom,  burns; 
And  there  the  spirit  sadly  learns 

What  man  was  meant  to  be. 

The  dial  hands  of  heaven  sublime 
Wheel  round  their  brilliant  way, 

And  point  to  man  the  lapse  of  time, 
While  man  grows  old  and  gray. 

His  joys  and  sorrows,  hopes  and  fears, 

Are  sinking  in  the  grave  of  years  ; 

But  this  dark  prospect  is  not  all ; 

And  though  the  shades  of  evening  fall, 

He  yet  may  hear  a  heavenly  call 
To  hail  a  New  Year's  day. 


128  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 


ON  NEW  YEAR'S  DAY. 

SACRED  OFFERING. 

Light  of  another  year  again  I  see, 

And  its  first  day  is  mine  !     But  whether  I 
May  see  it  join  the  past  eternity, 

My  Father  and  my  God !  depends  on  thee. 

O  grant  its  hours,  as  on  swift  wing  they  flee, 
In  peace  and  goodness,  compassed  by  thy  love, 
May  swiftly  glide  ;  so  shall  my  soul  not  move, 

Though  sorrow  waits  the  dark  futurity. 

Thus  would  I  consecrate  this  year ;  and  oh ! 
If  other  prayer  is  beating  in  my  breast, 
It  is  for  those  I  love,  that  they  may  rest 

In  the  same  trust,  the  same  high  comfort  know ; 

That  when  our  years  their  destined  race  have  run, 

We  each  may  find  the  meed  of  virtue  won. 


CLOSE   OF  THE  YEAR. 

EBEXEZER  ELLIOTT. 

Another  year  is  swallowed  by  the  sea 

Of  sumless  waves ! 
Another  year,  thou  past  Eternity  ! 

Hath  rolled  o'er  new-made  graves. 


CHURCHES    I\    BOSTON.  129 

They  open  yet  —  to  bid  the  living  weep, 

Where  tears  are  vain  ; 
While  they,  unswept  into  the  ruthless  deep, 

Storm-tried  and  sad,  remain. 

Why  are  we  spared  ?     Surely  to  wear  away, 

By  useful  deeds, 
Vile  traces,  left  beneath  the  upbraiding  spray, 

Of  empty  shells  and  weeds. 

But  there  are  things  which  time  devoureth  not: 
Thoughts,  whose  green  youth 

Flowers  o'er  the  ashes  of  the  unforgot ; 
And  words,  whose  fruit  is  truth. 

Are  ye  not  imaged  in  the  eternal  sea, 

Things  of  to-day  ? 
Deeds  which  are  harvest  for  eternity, 

Ye  cannot  pass  away ! 


CHURCHES  IN  BOSTON. 

O.  W.  HOLMES. 

"  What  is  thy  creed?"  a  hundred  lips  inquire; 
"Thouseekest  God  beneath  what  Christian  spire?" 
Nor  ask  they  idly,  for  uncounted  lies 
Float  upward  on  the  smoke  of  sacrifice : 


130  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

When  man's  first  incense  rose  above  the  plain, 
Of  earth's  two  altars,  one  was  built  by  Cain ! 

Uncursed  by  doubt,  our  earliest  creed  we  take ; 
We  love  the  precepts  for  the  teacher's  sake ; 
The  simple  lessons  which  the  nursery  taught 
Fell  soft  and  stainless  on  the  buds  of  thought, 
And  the  full  blossom  owes  its  fairest  hue 
To  those  sweet  tear-drops  of  affection's  dew. 

Too  oft  the  light  that  led  our  earlier  hours 
Fades  with  the  perfume  of  our  cradle  flowers ; 
The  clear,  cold  question  chills  to  frozen  doubt ; 
Tired  of  beliefs,  we  dread  to  live  without ; 
O  then,  if  Reason  waver  at  thy  side, 
Let  humbler  Memory  be  thy  gentle  guide ; 
Go  to  thy  birthplace,  and,  if  faith  was  there, 
Repeat  thy  father's  creed,  thy  mother's  prayer ! 

Faith  loves  to  lean  on  Time's  destroying  arm, 
And  age,  like  distance,  lends  a  double  charm ; 
In  dim  cathedrals,  dark  with  vaulted  gloom, 
What  holy  awe  invests  the  saintly  tomb ! 
There  pride  will  bow,  and  anxious  care  expand, 
And  creeping  avarice  come  with  open  hand ; 
The  gay  can  weep,  the  impious  can  adore, 
From  morn's  first  glimmerings  on  the   chancel 

floor 
Till  dying  sunset  sheds  his  crimson  stains 
Through  the  faint  halos  of  the  irised  panes. 


CHURCHES    IN    BOSTON.  131 

Yet  there  are  graves,  whose  mdely-shapen  sod 
Bears  the  fresh  footprints  where  the  sexton  trod, 
Graves  where  the  verdure  has  not  dared  to  shoot, 
Where  the  chance  wild-flower  has  not  fixed  its  root, 
Whose  slumbering  tenants,  dead  without  a  name, 
The  eternal  record  shall  at  length  proclaim 
Pure  as  the  holiest  in  the  long  array 
Of  hooded,  mitred,  or  tiaraed  clay. 

The  air  is  hushed ;  the  street  is  holy  ground ; 
Hark  !     The  sweet  bells  renew  their  welcome 

sound  ; 
As,  one  by  one,  awakes  each  silent  tongue, 
It  tells  the  turret  whence  its  voice  is  flung. 

The  Chapel,*  last  of  sublunary  things 
That  shocks  our  echoes  with  the  name  of  King's, 
Whose  bell,  just  glistening  from  the  font  and  forge, 
Rolled  its  proud  requiem  for  the  second  George, 
Solemn  and  swelling,  as  of  old  it  rang, 
Flings  to  the  wind  its  deep,  sonorous  clang ;  — 
The  simpler  pile,f  that,  mindful  of  the  hour 
When  Howe's  artillery  shook  its  half-built  tower, 
Wears  on  its  bosom,  as  a  bride  might  do, 
The  iron  breastpin  which  the  u  Rebels"  threw, 
Wakes  the  sharp  echoes  with  the  quivering  thrill 
Of  keen  vibrations,  tremulous  and  shrill ;  — 

*  King's  Chapel.  t  Tlw  Church  in  Brattle  Square. 


132 


AND    PRAISE. 


Aloft,  suspended  in  the  morning's  fire, 

Crash    the    vast    cymbals    from   the    Southern 

spire ;  *  — 
The  Giant,  f  standing  by  the  elm-clad  green, 
His  white  lance  lifted  o'er  the  silent  scene, 
Whirling  in  air  his  brazen  goblet  round, 
Swings  from  its  brim  the  swollen  floods  of  sound ; — 
While,  sad  with  memories  of  the  olden  time, 
The  Northern  Minstrel  J  pours  her  tender  chime, 
Faint,  single  tones,  that  spell  their  ancient  song, 
But  tears  still  follow  as  they  breathe  along. 

Child  of  the  soil,  whom  fortune  sends  to  range 
Where  man  and  nature,  faith  and  customs,  change, 
Borne  in  thy  memory,  each  remembered  tone 
Mourns  on  the  winds  that  sigh  in  every  zone. 
When  Ceylon  sweeps  thee  with  her  perfumed 

breeze 
Through  the  warm  billows  of  the  Indian  seas  ; 
When — ship  and  shadow  blended  both  in  one — 
Flames  o'er  thy  mast  the  equatorial  sun, 
From  sparkling  midnight  to  refulgent  noon 
Thy  canvas  swelling  with  the  still  monsoon  ; 
When  through  thy  shrouds  the  wild  tornado  sings, 
And  thy  poor  sea-bird  folds  her  tattered  wings, 
Oft  will  delusion  o'er  thy  senses  steal, 
And  airy  echoes  ring  the  Sabbath  peal ! 

*  The  Old  South  Church,    f  Park  Street  Church.    J  Christ  Church. 


LOVE,    HOPE,    AND     FAITH.  133 

Then,  dim  with  grateful  tears,  in  long  array 
Rise  the  fair  town,  the  island-studded  bay, 
Home,  with  its  smiling  board,  its  cheering  fire, 
The  half-choked  welcome  of  the  expecting  sire, 
The  mother's  kiss,  and,  still  if  aught  remain, 
Our  whispering  hearts  shall  aid  the  silent  strain. 

Ah,  let  the  dreamer  o'er  the  taffrail  lean, 
To  muse  unheeded,  and  to  weep  unseen ; 
Fear  not  the  tropic's  clews,  the  evening's  chills, 
His  heart  lies  warm  among  his  triple  hills ! 


LOVE,  HOPE,  AND  FAITH. 

SYLVESTER  JUDD. 

Bless,  holy  Love  !  our  calm  retreat ; 
The  lily  ?s  fair,  the  rose  is  sweet ; 
Than  rose  or  lily,  purer  bloom 
The  hearts  thy  grace  and  power  illume. 

O  Hope  divine  !  support  our  souls  ; 
The  shadows  fall,  the  thunder  rolls  ; 
When  terror  all  the  land  enshrouds, 
With  thy  blue  eye  disperse  the  clouds. 

12 


134  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

The  mountain  hides  us  from  the  East ; 
In  us  be  living  Faith  increased ; 
The  mountain  from  its  place  we  fling, 
Or  o'er  its  top  our  vision  wing. 


BISHOP  HUBERT. 


BERNARD    BARTOX. 


'T  is  the  hour  of  even  now, 
And  with  meditative  brow, 
Seeking  truths  as  yet  unknown, 
Bishop  Hubert  walks  alone. 

Fain  would  he,  with  earnest  thought, 
Nature's  secret  laws  be  taught ; 
Learn  the  destinies  of  man, 
And  creation's  wonders  scan. 

And  further  yet,  from  these  would  trace 

Hidden  mysteries  of  grace, 

Dive  into  the  deepest  theme, 

Solve  redemption's  glorious  scheme. 

Far  he  has  not  roamed,  before, 
On  the  solitary  shore, 
He  hast  found  a  little  child, 
By  its  seeming  play  beguiled. 


lMSHOP    HUBERT. 

In  the  drifted,  barren  sand 
It  has  scooped,  with  baby  hand, 
Small  recess,  in  which  might  lloat 
Sportive  fairy's  tiny  boat. 

From  a  hollow  shell,  the  while, 
See,  't  is  filling,  with  a  smile, 
Pool  as  shallow  as  may  be 
With  the  waters  of  the  sea. 

Hear  the  smiling  Bishop  ask, 
u  What  can  mean  such  infant  task  ?  " 
Mark  that  infant's  answer  plain, — 
"'Tis  to  hold  yon  mighty  main.*' 

"  Foolish  infant,"  Hubert  cries, 
"  Open,  if  thou  canst,  thine  eyes  : 
Can  a  hollow  scooped  by  thee 
Hope  to  hold  the  boundless  sea  ?  " 

Soon  that  child,  on  ocean's  brim, 
Opes  its  eyes  and  turns  to  him : 
Well  does  Hubert  read  its  look, 
Glance  of  innocent  rebuke  : 

While  a  voice  is  heard  to  say, 
"  If  the  pool,  thus  scooped  in  play, 
Cannot  hold  the  mighty  sea, 
What  must  thy  researches  be  ? 


135 


136  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

u  Canst  thou  hope  to  make  thine  own 
Secrets  known  to  God  alone  ? 
Can  thy  faculty  confined 
Compass  the  Eternal  Mind?" 

Bishop  Hubert  turns  away, — 
He  has  learnt  enough  to-day. 


THE  KINGDOM    OF   GOD. 


{.    C.    TRENCH. 


I  say  to  thee,  do  thou  repeat 

To  the  first  man  thou  mayest  meet 

In  lane,  highway,  or  open  street,  — 

That  he,  and  we,  and  all  men,  move 

Under  a  canopy  of  love, 

As  broad  as  the  blue  sky  above  : 

That  doubt  and  trouble,  fear  and  pain 
And  anguish,  all  are  shadows  vain ; 
That  death  itself  shall  not  remain  : 

That  weary  deserts  we  may  tread, 
A  dreary  labyrinth  may  thread, 
Through  dark  ways  under  ground  be  led 


THE    KINGDOM    OF    GOD.  137 

Yet,  if  we  will  one  Guide  obey, 
The  dreariest  path,  the  darkest  way, 
Shall  issue  out  in  heavenly  day  : 

And  we,  on  divers  shores  now  cast, 
Shall  meet,  our  perilous  voyage  past, 
All  in  our  Father's  house  at  last. 

And  ere  thou  leave  him,  say  thou  this, 
Yet  one  word  more  :  they  only  miss 
The  winning  of  that  final  bliss, 

Who  will  not  count  it  true  that  Love, 
Blessing,  not  cursing,  rules  above, 
And  that  in  it  we  live  and  move. 


And  one  thing  further  make  him  know, 
That  to  believe  these  things  are  so, 
This  firm  faith  never  to  forego, 


Despite  of  all  which  seems  at  strife 
With  blessing,  all  with  curses  rife,  — 
That  this  is  blessing,  this  is  life. 


12  * 


138  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 


HYMN. 


CHARLES  H.   A.  DALL. 


"  As  for  truth,  it  endureth.  and  is  always  strong;  it  liveth  and  con- 
quereth  for  evermore."  —  1  Esdras  iv.  38. 

Great  is  the  earth,  O  God ! 

But  mightier  still  is  truth ; 
As  thou  endurest,  so  it  stands 

Strong  in  eternal  youth. 

High  is  the  pure,  blue  heaven ; 

Truth  is  as  pure  and  high ; 
All  angels  bless  thy  righteousness, 

All  men  repeat  the  cry. 

Unerring  flies  the  sun, 

But  truth  is  surer  yet ; 
The  nations,  quickened  in  its  course 

Shall  live,  ere  truth  is  set. 

Transient  are  human  works, 

"Wicked  is  human  thought : 
We  perish  in  unrighteousness 

If  truth  inspire  us  not. 

Christ  yesterday,  to-day, 
For  ever,  —  conquers,  lives  ; 


EXAGGERATION. 


Christ  is  thy  truth  and  power  for  aye, 
'Tis  Christ  thy  kingdom  gives. 

No  truth  but  is  in  him, 

He  claims  no  greatness  else ; 

The  majesty  of  ages,  he 
Comes  in  the  truth  he  tells. 


EXAGGERATION. 


MRS.   BROWSING. 


We  overstate  the  ills  of  life,  and  take 

Imagination,  — given  us  to  bring  down 

The  choirs  of  singing  angels  overshone 

By  God's  clear  glory,  — down  our  earth  to  rake 

The  dismal  snows  instead;  flake  following  flake, 

To  cover  all  the  corn.     We  walk  upon 

The  shadow  of  hills  across  a  level  thrown, 

And  pant  like  climbers.     Near  the  alder-brake 

We  sigh  so  loud,  the  nightingale  within. 

Refuses  to  sing  loud,  as  else  she  would. 

O  brothers  !  let  us  leave  the  shame  and  sin 

Of  taking  vainly,  in  a  plaintive  mood, 

The  holy  name  of  Grief!  holy  herein, 

That  by  the  grief  of  One  came  all  our  good. 


140  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 


THE    STRAIGHT  ROAD. 


DISCIPLES     IIYMX-BOOK. 


Beauty  may  be  the  path  to  highest  good, 

And  some  successfully  have  it  pursued. 

Thou,  who  wouldst  follow,  be  well  warned  to  see 

That  way  prove  not  a  curved  road  to  thee. 

The  straightest  path  perhaps  which  may  be  sought 

Lies  through  the  great  highway  men  call  I  ought. 


GLORY  TO   GOD  ALONE. 


MADAME     GUYON. 


O  Loved  !  but  not  enough,  though  dearer  far 
Than  self  and  its  most  loved  enjoyments  are  ; 
None  duly  loves  thee,  but  who,  nobly  free 
From  sensual  objects,  finds  Ins  all  in  thee. 

Glory  of  God  !  thou  stranger  here  below, 
Whom  man  nor  knows,  nor  feels  a  wish  to  know ; 
Our  faith  and  reason  are  both  shocked  to  find 
Man  in  the  post  of  honor,  thee  behind. 

My  soul,  rest  happy  in  thy  low  estate, 
Nor  hope  nor  wish  to  be  esteemed  or  great ; 
To  take  the  impression  of  a  Will  Divine, 
Be  that  thy  glory,  and  those  riches  thine. 


A    MEDITATION.  141 

Confess  him  righteous  in  his  just  decrees, 
Love  what  he  loves,  and  let  his  pleasures  please; 
Die  daily  ;  from  the  touch  of  sin  recede  ; 
Then    thou   hast  crowned   him,   and   he  reigns 
indeed. 


A  MEDITATION. 


>\    L.    FHOTniXGHAM. 


Too  far  from  thee,  O  Lord. 
The  world  is  close  upon  each  captured  sense ; 
The  heart's  dear  idols  never  vanish  hence ; 
Life's  care  and  labor  still  are  pressing  nigh ; 
Its  fates  and  passions  hard  about  me  lie ;  — 
But  Thou  art  dim  behind  thine  infinite  sky, 

O  distantly  adored ! 

O  Lord,  too  far  from  thee  ! 
Unwinged  Time  stands  ever  in  my  sight, 
Flooding  the  Past  and  Now  with  gloom  and  light; 
Silent,  but  busy,  constant  at  my  side, 
It  shreds  away  strength,  beauty,  joy,  and  pride. 
Eternal !  why  am  I  from  Thee  so  wide, 

Nor  thy  near  Presence  see  ? 

Ne'er  languished  for  as  now, 
Now  that  the  hold  of  Earth  feels  poor  and  frail ; 
Now  that  the  cheek  of  Hope  Looks  thin  and  pale, 


142  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

And  forms  of  buried  love  rise  ghostly  round, 
And  dark  thoughts  struggle  on  o'er  broken  ground ; 
Where  is  thy  face,  O  Father !  radiant  found 
"With  mercy  on  thy  brow  ? 

I  know  that  not  from  far, 
Not  from  abroad,  this  presence  is  revealed,  — 
To  our  will  denied,  and  from  our  wit  concealed, 
No  search  can  find  Thee,  no  entreaty  bring,  — 
Reason  a  weak,  Desert  a  spotted  thing. 
O  Spirit,  lift  me  on  thy  dove-like  wing 

To  realms  that  last  and  Are  ! 


THE   OCEAN. 


C.   P.    CRAXCH. 


"  In  a  season  of  calm  weather, 
Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 
That  brought  us  hither ; 
Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither, 
And  see  the  children  spoxt  upon  the  shore, 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore." 

Wordsworth. 

Tell  me,  brother,  what  are  we  ? 
Spirits  bathing  in  the  sea 

Of  Deity! 
Half  afloat,  and  half  on  land, 
Wishing  much  to  leave  the  strand, 


Till:    OCEAN. 

Standing,  gazing  with  devotion, 

Yet  afraid  to  trust  the  ocean,  — 

Such  are  we. 

Wanting  love  and  holine 
To  enjoy  the  waves'  caress ; 
Wanting  faith  and  heavenly  hope, 
Buoyantly  to  bear  us  up  ; 
Yet  impatient  in  our  dwelling, 
When  we  hear  the  ocean  swelling, 
And  in  every  wave  that  rolls 
We  behold  the  happy  souls 
Peacefully,  triumphantly, 
Swimming  on  the  smiling  sea, 
Then  we  linger  round  the  shore, 
Lovers  of  the  earth  no  more. 

Once  —  't  was  in  our  infancy  — 
We  were  drifted  by  this  sea 
To  the  coast  of  human  birth, 
To  this  body  and  this  earth ; 
Gentle  were  the  hands  that  bore 
Our  young  spirits  to  the  shore  ; 
Gentle  lips  that  bade  us  look 
Outward  from  our  cradle-nook 
To  the  spirit-bearing  ocean 
With  such  wonder  and  devotion, 
As,  each  stilly  Sabbath  day, 
We  were  led  a  little  way, 


143 


144 


Where  we  saw  the  waters  swell 
Far  away  from  inland  dell, 
And  received  with  grave  delight 
Symbols  of  the  Infinite  :  — 
Then  our  home  was  near  the  sea ; 
"  Heaven  was  round  our  infancy  "  ;  — 
Night  and  day  we  heard  the  waves 
Murmuring  by  us  to  their  caves,  — 
Floated  in  unconscious  life, 
With  no  later  doubts  at  strife, 
Trustful  of  the  Upholding  Power, 
Who  sustained  us  hour  by  hour. 

Now  we  've  wandered  from  the  shore, 
Dwellers  by  the  sea  no  more ; 
Yet  at  times  there  comes  a  tone 
Telling  of  the  visions  flown, 
Sounding  from  the  distant  sea 
Where  we  left  our  purity : 
Distant  glimpses  of  the  surge 
Lure  us  down  to  ocean's  verge ; 
There  we  stand,  with  vague  distress, 
Yearning  for  the  measureless, 
By  half-wakened  instincts  driven, 
Half  loving  earth,  half  loving  heaven, 
Fearing  to  put  off  and  swim, 
Yet  impelled  to  turn  to  Him, 
In  whose  life  we  live  and  move, 
And  whose  very  name  is  Love. 


SONNET.  1  1" 


Grant  mo  courage,  Holy  One, 
To  become  indeed  thy  son, 
And  in  thee,  thou  Parent  Sea, 
Live  and  love  eternally. 


SONNET. 


R.    C.    TKEXCII. 


Lord,  what  a  change  within  us  one  short  hour 
Spent  in  thy  presence  will  prevail  to  make,  — 
What  heavy  burdens  from  our  bosoms  take, 
What  parched  grounds  refresh,  as  with  a  shower! 
We  kneel,  and  all  around  us  seems  to  lower ; 
We  rise,  and  all,  the  distant  and  the  near, 
Stands  forth  in  sunny  outline,  brave  and  clear; 
We  kneel  how  weak,  we  rise  how  full  of  power ! 
Why,  therefore,  should  we  do  ourselves  this  wrong. 
Or  others,  that  we  are  not  always  strong,  — 
That  we  are  ever  overborne  with  care, — 
That  we  should  ever  weak  or  heartless  be, 
Anxious  or  troubled,  when  with  us  ii  prayer,        & 
And  joy,  and  strength,  and  courage,  are  with  thee  ? 


13 


146  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 


NEARER   TO   THEE. 

SARAH  F.  ADAMS. 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, — 

Nearer  to  thee ! 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raiseth  me : 
Still  all  my  song  would  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee,  — 

Nearer  to  thee ! 

Though  like  the  wanderer, 
The  sun  gone  down, 

Darkness  be  over  me, 
My  rest  a  stone ; 

Yet  in  my  dreams  I  'd  be 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, — 
Nearer  to  thee ! 

There  let  the  way  appear,  — 
Steps  unto  heaven ; 

All  that  thou  sendest  me, 
In  mercy  given : 

Angels  to  beckon  me 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee,  — 
Nearer  to  thee ! 


DESIRES    FOR  GOD'ri    presencq.  147 

Then  with  my  waking  thoughts 
Bright  with  thy  praise, 

Out  of  my  stony  griefs 

Bethel  I'll  raise; 
So  by  my  woes  to  be 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee,  — 

Nearer  to  thee ! 

Or  if  on  joyful  wing 

Cleaving  the  sky, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  forgot, 

Upwards  I  fly ; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee,  — 

Nearer  to  thee  ! 


DESIRES  FOR  GOD'S  PRESENCE. 


JOXES   VE11V. 


Wilt  thou  not  visit  me? 
The  plant  beside  me  feels  thy  gentle  dew ; 

Each  blade  of  grass  I  see 
From  thy  deep  earth  its   quickening   moisture 
drew. 

Wilt  thou  not  visit  me  ? 
Thy  morning  calls  on  me  with  cheering  tone ; 


148  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

And  every  hill  and  tree 
Lend  but  one  voice,  the  voice  of  thee  alone. 

Come  !  for  I  need  thy  love, 
More  than  the  flower  the  dew,  or  grass  the  rain  ; 

Come,  like  thy  holy  dove, 
And  let  me  in  thy  sight  rejoice  to  live  again. 

Yes ;  thou  wilt  visit  me  ; 
Nor  plant  nor  tree  thy  eye  delights  so  well, 

As  when,  from  sin  set  free, 
Man's  spirit  comes  with  thine  in  peace  to  dwell. 


GOD  KNOWS  BY  LOVING  HDI. 

MADAME   GUYOX. 

'T  is  not  the  skill  of  human  art 

"Which  gives  me  power  my  God  to  know  ; 
The  sacred  lessons  of  the  heart 

Come  not  from  instruments  below. 

Love  is  my  teacher.     He  can  tell 
The  wonders  that  he  learnt  above  ; 

No  other  master  knows  so  well ;  — 
'T  is  Love  alone  can  tell  of  Love. 


MATINS.  149 

O,  then  of  God  if  thou  wouldst  learn, 
His  wisdom,  goodness,  glory  see, 

All  human  arts  and  knowledge  spurn, 
Let  love  alone  thy  teacher  be. 

Love  is  my  master.  When  it  breaks, 
The  morning  light,  with  rising  ray, 

To  thee,  O .  God !  my  spirit  wakes, 
And  love  instructs  it  all  the  day. 

And  when  the  gleams  of  day  retire, 
And  midnight  spreads  its  dark  control, 

Love's  secret  whispers  still  inspire 
Their  holy  lessons  in  the  soul. 


MATINS 


MRS.   II.   B.   STOWE. 


Still,  still  with  Thee,  when  purple  morning 
breaketh, 

When  the  bird  waketh,  and  the  shadows  flee ; 
Fairer  than  morning,  lovelier  than  the  daylight, 

Dawns  the  sweet  consciousness,  I  am  with  Thee ! 

Alone  with  Thee,  amid  the  mystic  shadows, 
The  solemn  hush  of  nature  newly  born ; 

13* 


150  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

Alone  with  Thee,  in  breathless  adoration, 
In  the  calm  dew  and  freshness  of  the  morn. 

As  in  the  dawning,  o'er  the  waveless  ocean, 
The  image  of  the  morning-star  doth  rest, 

So  in  this  stillness  Thou  beholdest  only 
Thine  image  in  the  waters  of  my  breast. 

When  sinks  the  soul,  subdued  by  toil,  to  slumber, 
Its  closing  eye  looks  up  to  Thee  in  prayer, 

Sweet  the  repose  beneath  thy  wings  o'ershading, 
But  sweeter  still  to  wake  and  find  Thee  there. 

So  shall  it  be  at  last  in  that  bright  morning 
When  the  soul  waketh,  and  life's  shadows  flee  ; 

O  in  that  hour,  fairer  than  daylight  dawning, 
Shall  rise  the  glorious  thought,  I  am  with  Thee ! 


GOD   THE  FOUNTAIN   OF  LOVE   TO  HIS 
CHILDREN. 


MADAME   GUYON. 


I  love  my  God,  but  with  no  love  of  mine, 

For  I  have  none  to  give : 
I  love  thee,  Lord  ;  but  all  the  love  is  thine, 

For  by  thy  life  I  live. 
I  am  as  nothing,  and  rejoice  to  be 
Emptied,  and  lost,  and  swallowed  up  in  Thee. 


151 


Thou,  Lord,  alone,  art  all  thy  children  need, 

And  there  is  none  beside ; 
From  thee  the  streams  of  blessedness  proceed  ; 

In  thee  the  blest  abide  ; 
Fountain  of  life,  and  all-abounding  grace, 
Our  source,  our  centre,  and  our  dwelling-place. 


'•DARK   THE  FAITH   OF  DAYS   OF   YORE.' 

ALTERED   FROM   COLERIDGE. 
FOX'S   COLLECTION. 

Dark  the  faith  of  days  of  yore, 
"  And  at  evening  evermore 
Did  the  chanters,  sad  and  saintly, 
Yellow  tapers  burning  faintly, 
Doleful  masses  chant  to  thee, 
Miserere,  Domine ! " 

Bright  the  faith  of  coming  days  ; 
And  when  dawn  the  kindling  rays 
Of  heaven's  golden  lamp  ascending, 
Happy  hearts,  and  voices  blending, 
Joyful  anthems  chant  to  thee, 
Te  laudamus,  Domine ! 


152  MEDITATION,    PRAYER,    AND    PRAISE. 

Night's  sad  "  cadence  dies  away 
On  the  yellow,  moonlit  sea  ; 
The  boatmen  rest  their  oars,  and  say, 
Miserere,  Domine ! " 

Morn's  glad  chorus  swells  alway 
On  the  azure,  sunlit  sea ; 
The  boatmen  ply  their  oars,  and  say, 
Te  laudamus,  Domine ! 


HYMN    OF   THE   CITY. 


"W.    C.   BRYANT. 


Not  in  the  solitude 
Alone,  may  man  commune  with  Heaven,  or  see 

Only  in  savage  wood, 
Or  sunny  vale,  the  present  Deity ; 

Or  only  hear  his  voice 
Where  the  winds  whisper  and  the  waves  rejoice. 

Even  here  do  I  behold 
Thy  steps,  Almighty !  —  here,  amidst  the  crowd 

Through  the  great  city  rolled, 
With  everlasting  murmur,  deep  and  loud, 

Choking  the  ways  that  wind 
'Mongst  the  proud  piles,  the  work  of  human  kind. 


HYMN    OF    THE    CITY.  153 

Thy  golden  sunshine  comes 
From  the  round  heaven,  and  on  their  dwelling 
lies, 

And  lights  their  inner  homes ; 
For  them  thou  fillet  with  air  the  unbounded  skies, 

And  givest  them  the  stores 
Of  ocean,  and  the  harvests  of  its  shores. 

Thy  spirit  is  around, 
Quickening  the  restless  mass  that  sweeps  along ; 

And  this  eternal  sound,  — 
Voices  and  footfalls  of  the  numberless  throng, — 

Like  the  resounding  sea, 
Or  like  the  rainy  tempest,  speaks  of  thee. 

And  when  the  hours  of  rest 
Come,  like  a  calm  upon  the  mid-sea  brine, 

Hushing  its  billowy  breast, 
The  quiet  of  that  moment,  too,  is  thine  ; 

It  breathes  of  Him  who  keeps 
The  vast  and  helpless  city  while  it  sleeps. 


PART  V. 

ACTIVE    DUTY 


ON  FOR  EVER. 


MRS.  L.   J.   HALL. 


Winds  of  the  sky !  ye  hurry  by 

On  your  strong  and  busy  wings, 
And  your  might  is  great,  and  your  song  is  high. 

And  true  is  the  tale  it  sings. 

"  On,  on,  for  ever  and  aye ! 

Round  the  whole  earth  lieth  our  way : 

On,  on,  for  we  may  not  stay ! " 

Murmuring  stream !  like  a  soft  dream 

Goest  thou  stealing  along, 
Pausing  not  in  the  shade  or  gleam, 

And  this  is  thy  ceaseless  song : 

"  On,  on,  for  ever  and  aye ! 

Down  to  the  deep  lieth  my  way : 

On,  for  I  may  not  stay!" 


OX    FOR    EVER.  15-J 

Queen  of  yon  high  and  dim  blue  vault, 

Gliding  past  many  a  star, 
'Mid  their  bright  orbs  thou  dost  not  halt, 

And  a  voice  comes  down  from  thy  car : 

"  On,  on,  for  ever  and  aye  ! 

Round  the  whole  earth  lietli  my  way : 

On,  for  I  may  not  stay!" 

Thoughts  of  my  mind,  ye  hurry  on  ; 

Whence  ye  come  I  may  not  know, 
But  from  my  soul  ye  straight  are  gone, 

In  a  ceaseless,  ceaseless  flow. 

"  On,  on,  for  ever  and  aye ! 

By  a  behest  we  must  obey, 

On,  for  we  may  not  stay  !  " 

Man  may  not  stay  !  there  is  no  rest 

On  earth  for  the  good  man's  foot ; 
He  should  go  forth  on  errands  blest, 

And  toil  for  unearthly  fruit. 

On,  on,  for  ever  and  aye ! 

Idle  not  precious  hours  away : 

On,  for  ye  may  not  stay  ! 

Sit  ye  not  down  in  sloth's  dark  bower, 
Where  shades  o'er  the  spirit  fall ; 

Pause  not  to  wreathe  the  sunny  flower 
That  is  worn  in  pleasure's  hall. 


156  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

On,  on,  for  ever  and  aye ! 
Duties  spring  up  along  your  way 
Do  good,  —  for  ye  may  not  stay  ! 


BEAUTY  AND  DUTY. 


THE   DIAL. 


I  slept,  —  and  dreamed  that  life  was  beauty  ; 
I  woke,  —  and  found  that  life  was  duty. 
Was  my  dream,  then,  a  shadowy  lie  ? 
Toil  on,  sad  heart,  courageously ; 
And  thou  shalt  find  thy  dream  shall  be 
A  noonday  light  and  truth  to  thee. 


PROGRESS. 


T.   H.   GILL. 


Everlasting  !  changing  never  ! 

Of  one  strength,  no  more,  no  less, 
Thine  almightiness  for  ever, — 

All  the  same  thy  holiness : 
Thee  eternal, 

Thee  all-glorious,  we  possess  ! 


PROGRESS.  157 

But  we  weak  ones,  but  we  sinners, 
Would  not  in  our  poorness  stay ; 

We,  the  low  ones,  would  be  winners 
Of  what  holy  height  we  may, 

Ever  nearer 
To  thy  pure  and  perfect  day. 

Shall  things  withered,  fashions  olden, 
Keep  us  from  life's  flowing  spring  ? 

Waits  for  us  the  promise  golden,  — 
Waits  each  new  diviner  thing  ? 

Onward !  onward ! 
Why  this  faithless  tarrying  ? 

By  the  old  aspirants  glorious, 

By  the  hearts  that  hoped  all, 
By  the  strivers,  half- victorious, 

By  each  soul  heroical, 
By  thy  dearest, 

By  thy  Milton  and  thy  Paul,— 

By  their  holy,  high  achieving, 

By  their  visions  more  divine, 
By  each  gift  of  our  receiving 

From  these  mighty  ones  of  thine, 
By  the  radiance 

That  on  us  from  them  doth  shine,  — 

By  each  saving  word  unspoken, 
By  thy  truth,  as  yet  half  won, 
14 


158  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

By  each  idol  still  unbroken, 

By  thy  will,  yet  poorly  done,  — 

Hear  us  !  hear  us ! 
Our  Almighty,  help  us  on ! 

Nearer  to  thee  would  we  venture, 
Of  thy  truth  more  largely  take, 

Upon  life  diviner  enter, 

Into  day  more  glorious  break ; 

To  the  ages 
Fair  bequests  and  costly  make. 

Ours  must  be  a  nobler  story 
Than  was  ever  writ  before  : 

After-comers  !  dim  our  glory  ; 

Be  your  smiles  and  winnings  more ! 

Everlasting ! 
Fuller  grace  incessant  pour ! 


TKUE    REST. 

j.  s.  dwight. 

Sweet  is  the  pleasure 
Itself  cannot  spoil ! 

Is  not  true  leisure 
One  with  true  toil  ? 


TRUE    REST.  159 

Thou  who  wouldst  taste  it, 

Still  do  thy  best ; 
Use  it,  not  waste  it, 

Else  't  is  no  rest. 

Wouldst  behold  beauty 

Near  thee,  —  all  round  ? 
Only  hath  duty 

Such  a  sight  found. 

Rest  is  not  quitting 

The  busy  career ; 
Rest  is  the  fitting 

Of  self  to  its  sphere. 

5T  is  the  brook's  motion, 

Clear  without  strife, 
Fleeing  to  ocean 

After  its  life. 

Deeper  devotion 

Nowhere  hath  knelt ; 
Fuller  emotion 

Heart  never  felt. 


'T  is  loving  and  serving 
The  Highest  and  Best ! 

'T  is  onwards  !  unswerving ; 
And  that  is  true  rest. 


160  ACTIVE    DUTY. 


AROUSE  THEE,   SOUL! 

ROBERT  KICOLL. 

Arouse  thee,  soul ! 
Be,  what  thou  surely  art, 
An  emanation  from  the  Deity,  — 

A  flutter  of  that  heart 
Which  fills  all  nature,  sea,  and  earth  and  sky 
Arouse  thee,  soul ! 

Arouse  thee,  soul ! 
And  let  the  body  do 
Some  worthy  deed  for  human  happiness, 

To  join,  when  life  is  through, 
Unto  thy  name,  that  angels  both  may  bless  : 
Arouse  thee,  soul ! 

Arouse  thee,  soul ! 
Leave  nothings  of  the  earth  ; 
And  if  the  body  be  not  strong  to  dare, 
To  blessed  thoughts  give  birth, 
High  as  yon  heaven,  pure  as  heaven's  air: 
Arouse  thee,  soul ! 


THE    HOURS.  161 


THE   HOURS. 

JONES   VEUY. 

The  minutes  have  their  trusts  as  they  go  by, 
To  bear  His  love  who  win^s  their  viewless 


"O" 


flight; 


To  Him  they  bear  their  record  as  they  fly, 

And  never  from  their  ceaseless  round  alight. 
Rich  with  the  life  Thou  liv'st  they  come  to  me  : 

O  may  I  all  that  life  to  others  show, 
That  they  from  strife  may  rise  and  rest  in  Thee, 

And  all  thy  peace  in  Christ  by  me  may  know ! 
Then  shall  the  morning  call  me  from  my  rest, 

With  joyful  hope  that  I  thy  child  may  live  ; 
And  when  the  evening  comes  'twill  make  me 
blest, 

To  know  that  Thou  wilt  peaceful  slumbers 
give, 
Such  as  Thou  dost  to  weary  laborers  send, 

Whose  sleep  from  Thee  doth  with  the  dews 
descend. 


u* 


162  ACTIVE    DUTY. 


THE  FAITHFUL  MONK. 

LINES   SUGGESTED   BY  AN   ALLUSION   IN   THE   MEMOIR  OF 
REV.    O.   W.    B.    PEABODY. 

CHARLES   T.    BROOKS. 

Golden  gleams  of  noonday  fell 
On  the  pavement  of  the  cell, 
And  the  monk  still  lingered  there 
In  the  ecstasy  of  prayer  : 
Fuller  floods  of  glory  streamed 
Through  the  window,  and  it  seemed 
Like  an  answering  glow  of  love, 
From  the  countenance  above. 

On  the  silence  of  the  cell 
Break  the  faint  tones  of  a  bell. 
'T  is  the  hour  when  at  the  gate 
Crowds  of  poor  and  hungry  wait, 
Wan  and  wistful,  to  be  fed 
"With  the  friar  of  mercy's  bread. 

Hark  !  that  chime  of  heaven's  far  bells ! 
On  the  monk's  rapt  ear  it  swells. 
No !  fond,  flattering  dream,  away  ! 
Mercy  calls  ;  no  longer  stay ! 
Whom  thou  yearnest  here  to  find 
In  the  musings  of  thy  mind, 


163 


God  and  Jesus,  lo,  they  wait 
Knocking  at  thy  convent  gate  ! 

From  his  knees  the  monk  arose ; 
With  full  heart  and  hand  he  goes, 
At  his  gate  the  poor  relieves, 
Gives  a  blessing,  and  receives  ; 
To  his  cell  returned,  and  there 
Found  the  angel  of  his  prayer, 
Who  with  radiant  features  said, 
"  Hadst  thou  stayed,  I  must  have  fled." 


"NOT  TO  MYSELF  ALONE." 

SARGENT'S   SELECTION. 

"  Not  to  myself  alone," 
The  little  opening  flower  transported  cries,  — 
"  Not  to  myself  alone  I  bud  and  bloom  ; 
With  fragrant  breath  the  breezes  I  perfume, 
And  gladden  all  things  with  my  rainbow  dyes. 
The  bee  comes  sipping,  every  eventide, 

His  dainty  fill ; 
The  butterfly  within  my  cup  doth  hide 
From  threatening  ill." 


164  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

"  Not  to  myself  alone," 
The  circling  star  with  honest  pride  doth  boast,  — 
"  Not  to  myself  alone,  I  rise  and  set ; 
I  write  upon  night's  coronal  of  jet 
His  power  and  skill  who  formed  our  myriad  host ; 
A  friendly  beacon  at  heaven's  open  gate, 

I  gem  the  sky, 
That  man  might  ne'er  forget,  in  every  fate, 
His  home  on  high." 

"  Not  to  myself  alone," 
The  heavy-laden  bee  doth  murmuring  hum, — 
"  Not  to  myself  alone,  from  flower  to  flower, 
I  rove  the  wood,  the  garden,  and  the  bower, 
And  to  the  hive  at  evening  weary  come  : 
For  man,  for  man,  the  luscious  food  I  pile, 

With  busy  care, 
Content  if  I  repay  my  ceaseless  toil 
With  scanty  share." 

u  Not  to  myself  alone," 
The  soaring  bird  with  lusty  pinion  sings,  — 
"  Not  to  myself  alone  I  raise  my  song  ; 
I  cheer  the  drooping  with  my  warbling  tongue, 
And  bear  the  mourner  on  my  viewless  wings  ; 
I  bid  the  hymnless  churl  my  anthem  learn, 

And  God  adore ; 
I  call  the  worldling  from  his  dross  to  turn, 
And  sing  and  soar." 


165 


M  Not  to  myself  alone," 
The  streamlet  whispers  on  its  pebbly  way,  — 
"  Not  to  myself  alone  I  sparkling  glide  ; 
I  scatter  health  and  life  on  every  side, 
And  strew  the  fields  with  herb  and  floweret  gay. 
I  sing  unto  the  common,  bleak  and  bare, 

My  gladsome  tune ; 
I  sweeten  and  refresh  the  languid  air 
In  droughty  June." 

k-  Not  to  myself  alone  "  ;  — 
O  man !  forget  not  thou  —  earth's  honored  priest, 
Its  tongue,  its  soul,  its  life,  its  pulse,  its  heart — 
In  earth's  great  chorus  to  sustain  thy  part ! 
Chiefest  of  guests  at  love's  ungrudging  feast, 
Play  not  the  niggard  ;  spurn  thy  native  clod, 

And  self  disown ; 
Live  to  thy  neighbor  ;  live  unto  thy  God  ; 
Not  to  thyself  alone  ! 


166  ACTIVE    DUTY. 


FAITH'S   ANSWER. 

CAROLINE   WHITMARSH. 

Still,  as  of  old,  thy  precious  word 
Is  by  the  nations  dimly  heard  ; 
The  hearts  its  holiness  hath  stirred 

Are  weak  and  few. 
Wise  men  the  secret  dare  not  tell ; 
Still  in  thy  temple  slumbers  well 
Good  Eli :   O,  like  Samuel, 

Lord,  here  am  I ! 

Few  years,  no  wisdom,  no  renown, 
Only  my  life  can  I  lay  down  ; 
Only  my  heart,  Lord  !  to  thy  throne 

I  bring  ;  and  pray, 
That  child  of  thine  I  may  go  forth, 
And  spread  glad  tidings  through  the  earth, 
And  teach  sad  hearts  to  know  thy  worth. 

Lord,  here  am  I ! 

Thy  messenger,  all-loving  One! 
The  errands  of  thy  truth  to  run, 
The  wisdom  of  thy  holy  Son 

To  teach  and  live  ! 
No  purse  or  scrip,  no  staff  or  sword  ;  — 
Be  pure  intent  my  wings,  O  Lord  ! 


FAITB'fl   answer.  1G7 

Be  innocence  my  magic  word. 
Lord,  here  am  I ! 

Young  lips  may  teach  the  wise,  Christ  said ; 
Weak  feet  sad  wanderers  home  have  led ; 
Small  hands  have  cheered  the  sick  one's  bed 

With  freshest  flowers: 
Yet  teach  me,  Father !  heed  their  sighs, 
While  many  a  soul  in  darkness  lies, 
And  waits  thy  message  ;  make  me  wise  ! 

Lord,  here  am  I ! 

And  make  me  strong ;  that  staff  and  stay, 
And  guide  and  guardian  of  the  way, 
To  thee-ward  I  may  bear,  each  day, 

Some  precious  soul. 
"  Speak ;  for  I  hear !  "  make  "  pure  in  heart," 
Thy  face  to  see.     Thy  truth  impart 
In  hut  and  hall,  in  church  and  mart. 

Lord,  here  am  I ! 

I  ask  no  heaven  till  earth  be  thine, 
Nor  glory-crown  while  work  of  mine 
Remaineth  here  :  when  Earth  shall  shine 

Among  the  stars, 
Her  sins  wiped  out,  her  captives  free, 
Her  voice  a  music  unto  thee, 
For  crown,  new  work  give  thou  to  me ! 

Lord,  here  am  I ! 


168 


ACTIVE    DUTY. 


EARTH'S  ANGELS. 


AXOXYMOUS. 


Why  come  not  spirits  from  the  realms  of  glory, 
To  visit  earth  as  in  the  days  of  old,  — 

The  times  of  sacred  writ  and  ancient  story  ? 
Is  heaven  more  distant  ?  or  has  earth  grown 
cold? 

Oft  have  I  gazed,  when  sunset  clouds,  receding, 
Waved  like  rich  banners  of  a  host  gone  by, 

To  catch  the  gleam  of  some  white  pinion  speeding 
Along  the  confines  of  the  glowing  sky. 

And  oft,  when  midnight  stars  in  distant  dullness 
Were  calmly  burning,  listened  late  and  long ; 

But  nature's  pulse  beat  on  in  solemn  stillness, 
Bearing  no  echo  of  the  seraphs'  song. 

To  Bethlehem's  air  was  their  last  anthem  given, 
When  other  stars  before  the  One  grew  dim  ? 

Was  their  last  presence  known  in  Peter's  prison, 
Or  where  exulting  martyrs  raised  their  hymn  ? 

And  are  they  all  within  the  veil  departed  ? 

There  gleams  no  wing  along  the  empyrean  now ; 
And  many  a  tear  from  human  eyes  has  started, 

Since  angel  touch  has  calmed  a  mortal's  brow. 


earth's  angbls.  169 

No:  earth   has   angels,   though   their  forms   are 
moulded 
But  of  such  clay  as  fashions  all  below  ; 
Though  harps  are  wanting,  and  bright  pinions 
folded, 
We  know  them  by  the  love-light  on  their  brow. 

I  have  seen  angels  by  the  sick  one's  pillow, — 
Theirs  was  the  soft  tone   and  the  soundless 
tread  ; 
Where  smitten  hearts  were  drooping  like  the  wil- 
low, 
They  stood  "  between  the  weeping  and  the 
dead." 

And  if  my  sight,  by  earthly  dimness  hindered, 
Beheld  no  hovering  cherubim  in  air, 

I  doubted  not,  for  spirits  know  their  kindred, 
They  smiled  upon  the  wingless  wTatchers  there. 

There  have  been  angels  in  the  gloomy  prison,  — 
In  crowded  halls,  —  by  the  lone  widow's  hearth ; 
And   where    they   passed,  the   fallen    have   up- 
risen, 
The  giddy  paused,  the  mourner's  hope  had 
birth. 

I  have  seen  one,  whose  eloquence  commanding 
Roused  the  rich  echoes  of  the  human  breast, 

15 


170  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

The  blandishments  of  wealth  and  ease  withstand- 
ing 
That  hope  might  reach  the  suffering  and  op- 
pressed. 

And  by  his  side  there  moved  a  form  of  beauty, 
Strewing  sweet  flowers  along  his  path  of  life, 

And  looking  up  with  meek  and  love-lent  duty ; 
I  called  her  angel,  but  he  called  her  wife. 

O,  many  a  spirit  walks  the  world  unheeded, 
That,  when  its  veil  of  sadness  is  laid  down, 

Shall  soar  aloft  with  pinions  unimpeded, 
And  wear  its  glory  like  a  starry  crown ! 


"IT  PROFITETH  THEE  NOTHING." 

DISCIPLES'  hymx-book. 

"  My  child,  cleanse  thou  thy  heart ;  this  daily  life 
Of  alms  and  works,  how  can  it  profit  thee, 

Except  low  down  upon  the  altar  burn 
The  hidden  fire  of  holy  charity  ? 

"  Leave  here  thy  deeds, — go  seek  the  inner  shrine ; 
There  watch,  and  wait,  and  pray,  and  tend  thy 
soul, 


"  IT    PROFITETH    THEE    NOTHING."  171 

Till  comes  the  grace  which  gives  no  outward  sign, 
Till  heaven  and  earth  are  bound  to  its  control !" 

Father,  well  know  I,  I  have  utmost  need 

To  tend  that  hidden  fire  both  night  and  day ; 

Bat  who  will  warm  my  cold,  my  hungry  feed, 
While  I  retire  to  weep,  and  watch,  and  pray? 

Father,  before  the  inmost,  stillest  shrine 
I  hear  the  echo  of  that  piercing  cry, 

And  can  no  more  implore  the  grace  divine, 
But  turn  to  serve  this  poor  humanity. 

Father,  it  may  be  that  my  light  is  small ; 

But  I  had  rather  bear  the  pains  that  may 
In  purgatory  my  lost  soul  befall, 

Than  leave  these  ones  to  faint  upon  their  way. 

';  My  child,  I  fear  me  much  thou  dost  postpone 
God's  great  eternity  to  thy  low  time  ; 

But  he  doth  deal  with  every  heart  alone, 

And  will  not  judge  thy  error  like  thy  crime." 


172  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

"BEG  FROM   A  BEGGAR." 
"  Dearie  (Ton  dearka." —  Irish  Proverb. 

R.   M.    3IILXES. 

There  is  a  thought  so  purely  blest 
That  to  its  use  I  oft  repair, 
"When  evil  breaks  my  spirit's  rest, 
And  pleasure  is  but  varied  care, — 
A  thought  to  gild  the  stormiest  skies, 
To  deck  with  flowers  the  bleakest  moor, 
A  thought  whose  home  is  paradise, — 
The  charities  of  Poor  to  Poor. 

It  were  not  for  the  rich  to  blame, 
If  they,  whom  Fortune  seems  to  scorn, 
Should  vent  their  ill-content  and  shame 
On  others  less  or  more  forlorn  ; 
But  that  the  veriest  needs  of  life 
Should  be  dispensed  with  freer  hand 
Than  all  their  stores  and  treasures  rife, 
Is  not  for  them  to  understand. 

To  give  the  stranger's  children  bread, 
Of  your  precarious  board  the  spoil,  — 
To  watch  your  helpless  neighbor's  bed, 
And,  sleepless,  meet  the  morrow's  toil ;  - 
The  gifts,  not  proffered  once  alone, 
The  daily  sacrifice  of  years,  — 


"beg  from  a  beggar."  173 

And,  when  all  else  to  give  La  gone, 

The  precious  gifts  of  love  and  tears;  — 

What  record  of  triumphant  deed, 
What  virtue  pompously  unfurled, 
Can  thus  refute  the  gloomy  creed 
That  parts  from  God  our  living  world  ? 
O  Misanthrope!  deny  who  would, — 
O  Moralists  !  deny  who  can,  — 
Seeds  of  almost  impossible  good, 
Deep  in  the  deepest  life  of  Man. 

Therefore,  lament  not,  honest  soul ! 
That  Providence  holds  back  from  thee 
The  means  thou  might'st  so  well  control,  — 
Those  luxuries  of  charity. 
Manhood  is  nobler,  as  thou  art ; 
And,  should  some  chance  thy  coffers  fill, 
How  art  thou  sure  to  keep  thine  heart, 
To  hold  unchanged  thy  loving  will  ? 

Wealth,  like  all  other  power,  is  blind, 
And  bears  a  poison  in  its  core, 
To  taint  the  best,  if  feeble,  mind, 
And  madden  that  debased  before. 
It  is  the  battle,  not  the  prize, 
That  fills  the  hero's  breast  with  joy  ; 
And  industry  the  bliss  supplies, 
Which  mere  possession  might  destroy. 

15* 


174  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

FROM  "THE  MEN   OF   OLD.' 


J.    G.    "WHITTIER. 


Well  speed  thy  mission,  bold  Iconoclast ! 
Yet  all  unworthy  of  its  trust  thou  art, 
If  with  dry  eye,  and  cold,  unloving  heart, 
Thou  tread'st  the  solemn  Pantheon  of  the  Past, 
By  the  great  Future's  dazzling  hope  made  blind 
To  all  the  beauty,  power,  and  truth  behind. 
Not  without  reverent  awe  should st  thou  put  by 
The  cypress  branches  and  the  amaranth  blooms, 
Where,  with  clasped  hands  of  prayer,   upon 
their  tombs 
The  effigies  of  old  confessors  lie, 
God's  witnesses,  —  the  voices  of  his  will, 
Heard  in  the  slow  march  of  the  centuries  still ! 
Such  were  the  men  at  whose  rebuking  frown, 
Dark  with  God's  wrath,  the  tyrant's  knee  went 

down ; 
Such  from  the  terrors  of  the  guilty  drew 
The  vassal's  freedom  and  the  poor  man's  due. 
St.  Anselm  (may  he  rest  for  evermore 

In  Heaven's  sweet  peace  !)  forbade,  of  old,  the 

sale 
Of  men  as  slaves,  and  from  the  sacred  pale 
Hurled  the  Northumbrian  buyers  of  the  poor. 
To  ransom  souls  from  bonds  and  evil  fate, 
St.  Ambrose  melted  down  the  sacred  plate,  — 


ALMSGIVING.  175 

Imago  of  saint,  the  chalice  and  the  pix, 

Crosses  of  gold,  and  silver  candlesticks. 

••  Man  is  worth  more  than  temples!"  he  replied 

To  such  as  came  his  holy  work  to  chide. 

And  brave  Cesarius,  stripping  altars  bare, 

And  coining  from  the  Abbey's  golden  hoard 
The  captive's  freedom,  answered  to  the  prayer 

Or  threat  of  those  whose  fierce  zeal  for  the  Lord 
Stifled  their  love  of  man,  —  "  An  earthen  dish 

The  last  sad  supper  of  the  Master  bore : 
Most  miserable  sinners !  do  ye  wish 

More  than  your  Lord,  and  grudge   his  dying 
poor 
What  your  own  pride,  and  not  his  need,  requires? 

Souls   than  these    shining    gauds   he   values 
more ; 
Mercy,  not  sacrifice,  his  heart  desires !  " 


ALMSGIVING. 

(ax  extract.) 

p..  m.  milxes. 

When  Poverty,  with  mien  01  shame, 
The  sense  of  Pity  seeks  to  touch,  — 
Or,  bolder,  makes  the  simple  claim 
That  I  have  nothing,  you  have  much, 


176  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

Believe  not  either  man  or  book 
That  bids  you  close  the  opening  hand, 
And  with  reproving  speech  or  look 
Your  first  and  free  intent  withstand. 

It  may  be  that  the  tale  you  hear 
Of  pressing  wants  and  losses  borne 
Is  heaped  or  colored  for  your  ear, 
And  tatters  for  the  purpose  worn  ; 
But  surely  Poverty  has  not 
A  sadder  need  than  this,  —  to  wear 
A  mask  still  meaner  than  her  lot, 
Compassion's  scanty  food  to  share. 

It  may  be  that  you  err  to  give 
What  will  but  tempt  to  further  spoil 
Those  who  in  low  content  would  live 
On  theft  of  others'  time  and  toil ; 
Yet  sickness  may  have  broke  or  bent 
The  active  frame  or  vigorous  will,  — 
Or  hard  occasion  may  prevent 
Their  exercise  of  humble  skill. 

It  may  be  that  the  suppliant's  life 
Has  lain  on  many  an  evil  way 
Of  foul  delight  and  brutal  strife, 
And  lawless  deeds  that  shun  the  day ; 
But  how  can  any  gauge  of  yours 
The  depth  of  that  temptation  try  ? 


FROM    "  THE    GOLDEN    LEGEND."  177 

What  man  resists,  what  man  endures, 
Is  open  to  one  only  eye. 

Why  not  believe  the  homely  letter, 
That  all  you  give  will  God  restore  ? 
The  poor  man  may  deserve  it  better, 
And  surely,  surely  wants  it  more: 
Let  but  the  rich  man  do  his  part, 
And  whatsoe'er  the  issue  be 
To  those  who  ask,  his  answering  heart 
Will  gain  and  grow  in  sympathy. 


FROM  "THE   GOLDEN  LEGEND. 


H.    W.    LONGFELLOW. 


The  Chapel.  —  Vespers  ;  after  which  the  monies  retire,  a 
chorister  leading  an  old  monk  who  is  blind. 

PRINCE   HENRY. 

They  are  all  gone,  save  one  who  lingers, 
Absorbed  in  deep  and  silent  prayer. 
As  if  his  heart  could  find  no  rest, 
At  times  he  beats  his  heaving  breast 
With  clenched  and  convulsive  fingers, 
Then  lifts  them  trembling  in  the  air. 


178  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

A  chorister,  with  golden  hair, 

Guides  hitherward  his  heavy  pace. 

Can  it  be  so  ?     Or  does  my  sight 

Deceive  me  in  the  uncertain  light  ? 

Ah  no  !     I  recognize  that  face, 

Though  Time  has  touched  it  in  his  flight, 

And  changed  the  auburn  hair  to  white. 

It  is  Count  Hugo  of  the  Rhine, 

The  deadliest  foe  of  all  our  race, 

And  hateful  unto  me  and  mine ! 

THE    BLIND    MONK. 

Who  is  it  that  doth  stand  so  near 
His  whispered  words  I  almost  hear  ? 

PRINCE   HENRY. 

I  am  Prince  Henry  of  Hoheneck, 
And  you,  Count  Hugo  of  the  Rhine ! 
I  know  you,  and  I  see  the  scar, 
The  brand  upon  your  forehead,  shine 
And  redden  like  a  baleful  star ! 

THE   BLIND    MONK. 

Count  Hugo  once,  but  now  the  wreck 

Of  what  I  was.     O  Hoheneck ! 

The  passionate  will,  the  pride,  the  wrath, 

That  bore  me  headlong  on  my  path, 

Stumbled  and  staggered  into  fear, 

And  failed  me  in  my  mad  career, 

As  a  tired  steed  some  evil-doer, 


FROM  "  THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 


179 


Alone  upon  a  desolate  moor, 

Bewildered,  lost,  deserted,  blind, 

And  hearing  loud  and  close  behind 

The  o'ertaking  steps  of  his  pursuer. 

Then  suddenly  from  the  dark  there  came 

A  voice  that  called  me  by  my  name, 

And  said  to  me,  "  Kneel  down  and  pray ! " 

And  so  my  terror  passed  away, 

Passed  utterly  away  for  ever. 

Contrition,  penitence,  remorse, 

Came  on  me  with  o'erwhelming  force ; 

A  hope,  a  longing,  an  endeavor, 

By  days  of  penance  and  nights  of  prayer, 

To  frustrate  and  defeat  despair ! 

Calm,  deep,  and  still  is  now  my  heart, 

With  tranquil  waters  overflowed ; 

A  lake  whose  unseen  fountains  start, 

Where  once  the  hot  volcano  glowed. 

And  you,  O  Prince  of  Hoheneck ! 

Have  known  me  in  that  earlier  time, 

A  man  of  violence  and  crime, 

Whose  passions  brooked  no  curb  nor  check. 

Behold  me  now,  in  gentler  mood, 

One  of  this  holy  brotherhood. 

Give  me  your  hand  ;  here  let  me  kneel; 

Make  your  reproaches  sharp  as  steel ; 

Spurn  me,  and  smite  me  on  each  cheek ; 

No  violence  can  harm  the  meek, 

There  is  no  wound  Christ  cannot  heal ! 


180 


ACTIVE    DUTY. 


Yes;  lift  your  princely  hand,  and  take 
Revenge,  if  't  is  revenge  you  seek ; 
Then  pardon  me,  for  Jesus'  sake  ! 

PRIXCE    HENRY. 

Arise,  Count  Hugo  !  let  there  be 

No  farther  strife  nor  enmity 

Between  us  twain  ;  we  both  have  erred ! 

Too  rash  in  act,  too  wroth  in  word, 

From  the  beginning  we  have  stood 

In  fierce,  defiant  attitude, 

Each  thoughtless  of  the  other's  right, 

And  each  reliant  on  his  might. 

But  now  our  souls  are  more  subdued ; 

The  hand  of  God,  and  not  in  vain, 

Has  touched  us  with  the  fire  of  pain. 

Let  us  kneel  down,  and  side  by  side 

Pray,  till  our  souls  are  purified, 

And  pardon  will  not  be  denied ! 

Tliey  kneel. 


THE  SECRET  OF  PIETY.  181 


THE   SECRET   OF  PIETY. 

W.    B.    ALGKI'.'S   "rOETUY   OF   THE   EAST." 

A  pining   sceptic  towards   a  raptured  saint  in- 
clined, 
And  asked  him  how  the  Boundless  Lover,  God, 

to  find. 
A  smile  divine  across  the   saint's  pale  features 

stole, 
And  thus  in  wise  and  pitying  love  he  poured  his 

soul : 
ci  Ah,  hapless  wanderer !    long   from   life's   true 

bliss  shut  out, 
In  night  of  sin  forlorn  and  wilderness  of  doubt, 
Prepared  am  I  with  thy  sad  lot  to  sympathize, 
For  o'er  my  own  dim  tracks  thy  dark  experience 

lies. 
Now  list  and  ponder  deep,  the  secret  while  I  tell 
Of  all  the  love  with  which  angelic  bosoms  swell. 
Whoso  would  careless  tread  one  worm  that  crawls 

the  sod, 
That  cruel  man  is  darkly  alienate  from  God ; 
But  he  that  lives,  embracing  all  that  is,  in  love, 
To  dwell  with  him  God  bursts  all  bounds,  below, 

above/' 

16 


182  ACTIVE    DUTY. 


FROM  "THE  VISION   OF   SIR  LAUKFAL." 

J.   B.   LOWELL. 

Sir  Launfal  turned  from  his  own  hard  gate, 

For  another  heir  in  his  earldom  sate  : 

An  old,  bent  man,  worn  out  and  frail, 

He  came  back  from  seeking  the  Holy  Grail ;  * 

Little  he  recked  of  his  earldom's  loss, 

No  more  on  his  surcoat  was  blazoned  the  cross, 

But  deep  in  his  soul  the  sign  he  wore, 

The  badge  of  the  suffering  and  the  poor. 

Sir  Launfal's  raiment  thin  and  spare 

Was  idle  mail  'gainst  the  barbed  air, 

For  it  was  just  at  the  Christmas  time: 

So  he  mused,  as  he  sat,  of  a  sunnier  clime, 

And  sought  for  a  shelter  from  cold  and  snow 

In  the  light  and  warmth  of  long  ago  ; 

He  sees  the  snake-like  caravan  crawl 

O'er  the  edge  of  the  desert,  black  and  small, 

Then  nearer  and  nearer,  till,  one  by  one, 

He  can  count  the  camels  in  the  sun, 

As  over  the  red-hot  sands  they  pass 

To  where,  in  its  slender  necklace  of  grass, 

The  little  spring  laughed  and  leaped  in  the  shade, 

*  The  vessel  used  by  the  Saviour  at  the  Last  Supper. 


THE    VISION    OF    SIR    LAUNFAL.  183 

And  with  its  own  self  like  an  infant  played, 
And  waved  its  signal  of  palms. 

"  For  Christ's  sweet  sake,  I  beg  an  alms  "  ;  — 

The  happy  camels  may  reach  the  spring, 

But  Sir  Launfal  sees  naught  save  the  giewsome 

thing, 
The  leper,  lank  as  the  rain-blanched  bone, 
That  cowered  beside  him,  a  thing  as  lone 
And  white  as  the  ice-isles  of  Northern  seas 
In  the  desolate  horror  of  his  disease. 

And  Sir  Launfal  said :  u  I  behold  in  thee 
An  image  of  Him  who  died  on  the  tree  ; 
Thou  also  hast  had  thy  crown  of  thorns,  — 
Thou   also    hast    had    the   world's   buffets    and 

scorns,  — 
And  to  thy  life  were  not  denied 
The  wounds  in  the  hands  and  feet  and  side : 
Mild  Mary's  Son,  acknowledge  me ; 
Behold,  through  him,  I  give  to  thee  ! n 

Then  the  soul  of  the  leper  stood  up  in  his  eves 
And  looked  at  Sir  Launfal,  and  straightway  he 

Remembered  in  what  a  haughtier  guise 
He  had  flung  an  alms  to  leprosie, 

When  he  caged  his  young  life  up  in  gilded  mail, 

And  set  forth  in  search  of  the  Holy  Grail. 

The  heart  within  him  was  ashes  and  dust ; 


184  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

He  parted  in  twain  his  single  crust, 

He  broke  the  ice  on  the  streamlet's  brink, 

And  gave  the  leper  to  eat  and  drink  ; 

'T  was  a  mouldy  crust  of  coarse  brown  bread, 

'T  was  water  out  of  a  wooden  bowl,  — 
Yet  with  fine  wheaten  bread  was  the  leper  fed, 

And  't  was  red  wine  he  drank  with  his  thirsty 
soul. 

As  Sir  Launfal  mused  with  a  downcast  face, 

A  light  shone  round  about  the  place ; 

The  leper  no  longer  crouched  at  his  side, 

But  stood  before  him  glorified, 

Shining  and  tall  and  fair  and  straight 

As  the  pillar  that  stood  by  the  Beautiful  Gate,  — 

Himself  the  Gate  whereby  men  can 

Enter  the  temple  of  God  in  Man. 

His  words  were  shed  softer  than  leaves  from  the 

pine, 
And  they  fell  on  Sir  Launfal  as  snows  on  the 

brine, 
Which  mingle  their  softness  and  quiet  in  one 
"With  the  shaggy  unrest  they  float  down  upon  ; 
And  the  voice  that  was  calmer  than  silence  said : 
u  Lo,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid ! 
In  many  climes,  without  avail, 
Thou  hast  spent  thy  life  for  the  Holy  Grail ; 
Behold,  it  is  here,  —  this  cup  which  thou 


A    PRAYER    OF    AFFECTION.  185 

Didst  fill  at  the  streamlet  for  me  but  now ; 

Tli is  crust  is  my  body  broken  for  thee. 

This  water  His  blood  that  died  on  the  tree ; 

The  Holy  Supper  is  kept  indeed, 

In  whatso  we  share  with  another's  need, — 

Not  that  which  we  give,  but  what  we  share, 

For  the  gift  without  the  giyer  is  bare ; 

Who  bestows  himself  with  his  alms  feeds  three, — 

Himself,  his  hungering  neighbor,  and  me." 


A  PRAYER   OF  AFFECTION 


MRS.    IIEMAXS. 


Blessings,  O  Father,  shower! 
Father  of  mercies  !  round  his  precious  head  ! 
On  his  lone  walks,  and  on  his  thoughtful  hour, 
And  the  pure  visions  of  his  midnight  bed, 


Blessings  be  shed  ! 


Father  !  I  pray  thee  not 
For  earthly  treasure  to  that  most  beloved, 
Fame,  fortune,  power;  —  O,  be  his  spirit  proved 
By  these,  or  by  their  absence,  at  thy  will ! 
But  let  thy  peace  be  wedded  to  his  lot, 
Guarding  his  inner  life  from  touch  of  ill, 

With  its  dove-pinion  still ! 

16* 


186  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

Let  such  a  sense  of  Thee, 
Thy  watching  presence,  thy  sustaining  love, 
His  bosom  guest  inalienably  be, 

That,  wheresoe'er  he  move, 

A  heavenly  light  serene 

Upon  his  heart  and  mien 
May  sit  undimmed !  a  gladness  rest,  his  own, 
Unspeakable,  and  to  the  world  unknown  ! 
Such  as  from  childhood's  morning  land  of  dreams 

Remembered  faintly  gleams, 
Faintly  remembered,  and  too  swiftly  flown ! 

So  let  him  walk  with  Thee, 

Made  by  thy  spirit  free ; 
And  when  thou  call'st  him  from  his  mortal  place, 
To  his  last  hour  be  still  that  sweetness  given, 
That  joyful  trust!  and  brightly  let  him  part, 
With  lamp  clear  burning,  and  unlingering  heart, 

Mature  to  meet  in  heaven 

His  Saviour's  face ! 


HE  FOR  GOD  ONLY,  SHE  FOR  GOD  IN  HIM.*'  187 


"HE  FOR  GOD  ONLY,  SHE  FOR  GOD  IX.  HIM.' 

MPS.    CAROLINE   GILMAX. 

When  Pleasure  gilds  thy  passing  hours, 
And  Hope  enwreathes  her  fairy  flowers, 
And  Love  appears  with  playful  hand 
To  steal  from  Time  his  falling  sand, 
O,  then  I  '11  smile  with  thee. 

When  nature's  beauties  bless  thy  sight, 
And  yield  a  thrill  of  soft  delight, 
When  morning  glories  greet  thy  gaze, 
Or  evening  twilight  still  delays, 

Then  I  '11  admire  with  thee. 

When  the  far-clustering  stars  unroll 
Their  bannered  lights  from  pole  to  pole, 
Or  when  the  moon  glides  queenly  by, 
Looking  in  silence  on  thine  eye, 

I  '11  gaze  on  heaven  with  thee. 

When  Music  with  her  unsought  lay 
Awakes  the  household  holiday, 
Or  Sabbath  notes  in  concert  strong 
Lift  up  the  secret  wings  of  song, 

I  '11  sing  those  strains  with  thee. 


188  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

But  should  Misfortune,  hovering  nigh, 
Wrest  from  thy  aching  heart  the  sigh, 
Or,  with  an  aspect  chill  and  drear, 
Despondence  draw  the  unbidden  tear, 
O,  then  I  '11  weep  with  thee. 

Should  Poverty  with  withering  hand 
Wave  o'er  thy  head  his  care-wrought  wand, 
And  ope  within  thy  soul  the  void 
That  haunts  a  mind  with  hope  destroyed, 
I  '11  share  that  pang  with  thee. 

When  youth  and  youthful  pleasures  fly, 
And  earth  is  fading  on  thine  eye, 
When  life  has  lost  its  early  charm, 
And  all  thy  wish  is  holy  calm, 

I  '11  love  that  calm  with  thee. 

And  when  unerring  death,  at  last, 
Comes  rushing  on  time's  fatal  blast, 
And  naught  (not  e'en  my  love)  can  save 
Thy  form  from  the  encroaching  grave, 
I  '11  share  that  grave  with  thee. 

And  when  thy  spirit  soars  above, 
Wrapt  in  the  foldings  of  God's  love, 
Is  it  too  much  to  ask  of  Heaven, 
That  some  low  seat  may  there  be  given, 
Where  I  can  bow  near  thee  ? 


THE    YOUNG    TEACHERS.  L89 


THE  YOUNG   TEACHERS. 


The  world  throws  wide  its  brazen  gates  ; 

With  thee  we  enter  in  ; 
O  grant  us,  in  oar  humble  sphere, 

To  free  that  world  from  sin ! 

We  have  one  mind  in  Christ  our  Lord 

To  stand  and  point  above  ; 
To  hurl  rebuke  at  social  wrong  ; 

But  all,  O  God,  in  love. 

The  star  is  resting  in  the  sky ; 

To  worship  Christ  we  came ; 
The  moments  haste  ;  O  touch  our  tongues 

With  thy  celestial  flame ! 

The  truest  worship  is  a  life ; 

All  dreaming  we  resign  ; 
We  lay  onr  offerings  at  thy  feet,  — 

Our  lives,  O  Christ,  are  thine  ! 


190  ACTIVE    DUTY. 


LINES    WRITTEN    ON    LEAVING    CHARLESTON 
FOR  THE   SEASON. 

1820. 

SAMUEL  GILMAN. 

Farewell,  awhile,  thou  hospitable  spot ! 

Farewell,  my  own  adopted  dwelling-place ! 
Scene  of  my  future  consecrated  lot, 

And  destined  circuit  of  my  earthly  race. 

Farewell,  ye  friends,  who  hung  so  long  and  true, 
With  sleepless  care,  around  my  fevered  bed, 

And  ye  from  whom  a  stranger's  title  drew 
Profuse  attentions,  delicately  shed. 

Yet  why  a  stranger  ?  since  no  other  home 
Remains  for  me  ;  e'en  now,  depressed,  I  fly 

For  the  last  time  through  youthful  haunts  to  roam, 
And  snatch  the  breezes  of  my  native  sky. 

Yes,  dear  New  England!  help  me  from  thy  breast 
To  wean  these  childish  yearnings  ere  we  part ; 

Help  me  these  cords  to  snap,  these  ties  to  wrest, 
So  wound,  and  stamped,  and  woven  in  my 
heart. 

A  few  more  bounds  along  thy  rocky  shore, 
A  few  more  pensive  walks  among  thy  streams, 


Till-:    WAN    REAPERS.  191 

A  few  more  greetings  from  dear  friends  of  yore, 
A  few  more  dreams,  and  then  —  no  more  of 
dreams. 

Come,  sacred,  solid  duty  !  at  thy  call 
My  cheerful  will  submissively  shall  flow, 

So  thou,  great  Source  of  strength  and  light  to  all, 
Lead  me  the  awful  way  my  feet  must  go. 

Teach  me  to  bear  the  Christian  herald's  part, 
To  set  the  slaves  of  siu  and  error  free, 

To  guide  each  doubting,  soothe  each  aching  heart, 
And  draw  a  listening,  willing  flock  to  Thee ! 


THE  WAN  REAPERS. 


MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSOX. 


1  came  from  a  land  where  a  beautiful  light 
Is  slow  creeping  o'er  hill-top  and  vale, 

Where  broad  is  the  field,  and  the  harvest  is  white, 
But  the  reapers  are  haggard  and  pale. 

All  wasted  and  worn  with  their  wearisome  toil, 
Still  they  pause  not,  that  brave  little  band, 

Though  soon  their  low  pillows  must  be  the  strange 
soil 
Of  that  distant  and  grave-dotted  strand. 


192  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

For  dangers  uncounted  are  clustering  there, 

The  pestilence  stalks  uncontrolled, 
Strange  poisons  are  borne  on  the  soft,  languid  air, 

And  lurk  in  each  leafs  fragrant  fold. 

There  the  rose  never  blooms  on  fair  woman's  wan 
cheek, 
But  there 's  beautiful  light  in  her  eye, 
And  the  smile  that  she  wears  is  so  loving  and 
meek, 
None  can  doubt  it  came  down  from  the  sky. 

There  the  strong  man  is  bowed  in  his  youth's 
golden  prime, 
But  he  cheerily  sings  at  his  toil, 
For  he  thinks  of  his  sheaves,  and  the  garnering 
time 
Of  the  glorious  Lord  of  the  soil. 

And  ever  they  turn,  that  brave,  wan  little  band, 
A  long,  wistful  gaze  on  the  West : 

"  Do  they  come,  do  they  come  from  that  dear  dis- 
tant land,  — 
That  land  of  the  lovely  and  blest  ? 

"  Do  they  come  ?    Do  they  come  ?    Oh !    we  're 
feeble  and  wan, 

And  we  're  passing  like  shadows  away  ; 
But  the  harvest  is  white,  and  lo!  yonder  the  dawn ! 

For  laborers,  —  for  laborers,  we  pray !  " 


HENRY    MARTVN    AT    SHIRAZ.  193 


HENRY   MARTYX   AT   SHIRAZ. 

HENRY   ALFORD. 

A  vision  of  the  bright  Shiraz,  of  Persian  bards 
the  theme : 

The  vine  with  bunches  laden  hangs  o'er  the  crys- 
tal stream, 

The  nightingale  all  day  her  notes  in  rosy  thickets 
trills, 

And  the  brooding  heat-mist  faintly  lies  along  the 
distant  hills. 

About  the  plain  are  scattered  wide,  in  many  a 
crumbling  heap, 

The  fanes  of  other  days,  and  tombs  where  Iran's 
poets  sleep. 

And  in  the  midst,  like  burnished  gems  in  noon- 
day light,  repose 

The  minarets  of  bright  Shiraz,  the  city  of  the  rose. 

One  group  beside  the  river  bank  in  rapt  discourse 

are  seen, 
Where  hangs  the  golden  orange  on  its  boughs  of 

purest  green ; 
Their  words  are  sweet  and  low,  and  their  looks 

are  lit  with  joy ; 
Some  holy  blessing  seems  to  rest  on  them  and 

their  employ. 

17 


194  ACTIVE    DUTY. 

The  pale-faced  Frank  among  them  sits ;  what 

brought  him  from  afar  ? 
Nor  bears  he  bales  of  merchandise,  nor  teaches 

skill  in  war ; 
One  pearl  alone  he  brings  with  him,  — the  Book 

of  life  and  death  ; 
One  warfare  only  teaches  he,  —  to  fight  the  fight 

of  faith. 

And  Iran's  sons  are  round  him ;  and  one  with 

solemn  tone 
Tells  how  the  Lord  of  glory  was  rejected  by  his 

own, 
Tells,  from  the  wondrous  Gospel,  of  the  trial  and 

the  doom, 
The  words  divine  of  love  and  might,  the  scourge, 

the  cross,  the  tomb. 

Far  sweeter  to  the  stranger's  ear  those  Eastern 
accents  sound 

Than  music  of  the  nightingale,  that  fills  the  air 
around ; 

Lovelier  than  balmiest  odors  sent  from  gardens 
of  the  rose, 

The  fragrance  from  the  contrite  soul  and  chas- 
tened lip  that  flows. 

The  nightingales  have  ceased  to  sing,  the  rose's 
leaves  are  shed, 

The  Frank's  pale  face  in  Tocat's  field  hath  moul- 
dered with  the  dead; 


HENRY    MARTYN    AT    SIIIRAZ.  195 

Alone  and  all  unfriended, 'midst  his  Master's  work 

he  fell, 
With  none  to  bathe  his  fevered  brow,  with  none 

his  tale  to  tell. 

But  still  those  sweet  and  solemn  tones  about  him 
sound  in  bliss ; 

And  fragrance  from  those  flowers  of  God  for  ever- 
more is  his ; 

For  his  the  meed,  by  grace,  of  those  who,  rich  in 
zeal  and  love, 

Turn  many  unto  righteousness,  and  shine  as  stars 
above. 


PAET  VI. 

PENITENCE. 


DE  PROFUNDIS   CLAMAVI. 


C.   G.   FENXER. 


Up  from  the  deeps,  O  God,  I  cry  to  thee ! 

Hear  the  soul's  prayer,  hear  thou  her  litany, 

O  thou  who  say'st,  "  Come,  wanderer,  home  to 


Up  from  the  deeps  of  sorrow,  wherein  lie 
Dark  secrets  veiled  from  earth's  unpitying  eye, 
My  prayers,  like  star-crowned  angels,  God-ward 

fly- 

Up  from  the  deeps  of  joy,  deep  tides  that  swell 
With  fulness  that  the  heart  can  never  tell, 
Thanks  shall  ring  clear  as  rings  a  festal  bell. 


DE    PHOFUNDIS    CLAM  A  VI.  197 

From  the  calm  bosom  when  in  quiet  hour 
God's  holy  spirit  reigns  with  largest  power, 
Then  shall  each  thought  in  prayer's  white  blos- 
som flower. 

From  the  dark  mine,  where  slow  Thought's  dia- 
mond burns, 
Where  the  Gold-spirits  vein  their  rugged  urns, 
From  that  grim  Cyclop-forge  my  spirit  turns, 

And  gazes  upward  at  thy  clear  blue  sky, 
And  'midst  the  light  that  floods  it  does  espy 
Bright  stars  unseen  by  superficial  eye. 

Where  Sin's  Red  Dragons  lie  in  caverns  deep, 
And  glare  with  stony  eyes  that  never  sleep, 
And  o'er  the  Heavenly  Fruit  strict  ward  do  keep ; 

Thence  my  poor  heart,  long  struggling  to  get  free, 
Torn  by  the  strife,  in  painful  agony 
Crieth,  O  God,  my  God,  deliver  me! 

Up  from  the  thickest  tumult  of  the  game, 
Where  spring  Life's  arrows  with  unerring  aim, 
My  shaft  of  prayer,  Acestes'  like,  shall  flame. 

Not  from  life's  shallows,  where  the  waters  sleep, 
A  dull  low  marsh,  where  stagnant  vapors  creep, 
But  ocean-voiced,  deep  calling  unto  deep, 
17* 


198  PENITENCE. 

As  he  of  old,  King  David,  called  to  thee, 
As  cries  the  heart  of  poor  Humanity, 
"  Clamavi,  Domine,  exaudi  me  !  " 


A  LITANY. 


MATTHEW   ARNOLD. 


Thou,  who  dost  dwell  alone,  — 
Thou,  who  dost  know  thine  own,  - 
Thou,  to  whom  all  are  known 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave, — 
Save,  O  save ! 

From  the  world's  temptations ; 
From  tribulations ; 
From  that  fierce  anguish 
Wherein  we  languish ; 
From  that  torpor  deep 
Wherein  we  lie  asleep, 
Heavy  as  death,  cold  as  the  grave, 
Save,  O  save! 

When  the  Soul,  growing  clearer, 
Sees  God  no  nearer  ; 
When  the  Soul,  mounting  higher, 
To  God  comes  no  nigher ; 


A    LITANY.  199 

But  the  arch-fiend  Pride 
Mounts  at  her  side, 
Foiling  her  high  emprise, 
Sealing  her  eagle  eyes, 
And,  when  she  fain  would  soar, 
Makes  idols  to  adore  ; 
Changing  the  pure  emotion 
Of  her  high  devotion 
To  a  skin-deep  sense 
Of  her  own  eloquence  ; 
Strong  to  deceive,  strong  to  enslave,  — 
Save,  O  save  ! 

From  the  ingrained  fashion 
Of  this  earthly  nature 
That  mars  thy  creature, 
From  grief  that  is  but  passion, 
From  mirth  that  is  but  feigning, 
From  tears  that  bring  no  healing, 
From  wild  and  weak  complaining, 
Thine  own  strength  revealing, 
Save !  O  save  ! 

From  doubt  where  all  is  double, 
Where  wise  men  are  not  strong, 
"Where  comfort  turns  to  trouble, 
Where  just  men  suffer  wrong, 
Where  sorrow  treads  on  joy, 
Where  sweet  things  soonest  cloy, 


200  PENITENCE. 

Where  faiths  are  built  on  dust, 
Where  love  is  half  mistrust, 
Hungry,  and  barren,  and  sharp  as  the  sea, 
O  set  us  free ! 

O  let  the  false  dream  fly- 
Where  our  sick  souls  do  lie 
Tossing  continually. 
O  where  thy  voice  doth  come, 
Let  all  doubts  be  dumb ; 
Let  all  words  be  mild, 
All  strifes  be  reconciled, 
All  pains  beguiled ; 
Light  brings  no  blindness, 
Love  no  unkindness, 
Knowledge  no  ruin, 
Fear  no  undoing. 
From  the  cradle  to  the  grave, 
Save,  O  save ! 


THE   SPREADING   SPECK. 

W.   E.   ALGER'S   "POETRY  OF  THE  EAST." 

On  every  human  soul  there  lies 
A  little  dusky  speck  of  sin, 
As  small  as  a  mote's  eye  in  size : 
But  when  that  speck  doth  once  begin 


LINES.  201 

To  work,  it  swift  and  swift  extends, 

Till  the  whole  soul  it  comprehends, 

And  all  its  powers  overclouds 

With  condemnation's  thunder-shrouds. 

Then  fierce  and  far  the  fear-fires  flash, 

And  dire  and  dread  the  doom-bolts  dash. 

Thus  doth  the  sin-speck  spread,  in  sight, 

O'er  all  the  soul  a  baleful  night,  — 

A  blotting  night  of  horror  deep, 

That  knows  no  dawn  and  knows  no  sleep ! 


LINES. 


II.    WARE,   JR. 


It  is  not  what  my  hands  have  done, 

That  weighs  my  spirit  down, 
That  casts  a  shadow  o'er  the  sun, 

And  over  earth  a  frown  ; 
It  is  not  any  heinous  guilt, 

Or  vice  by  men  abhorred  ; 
For  fair  the  fame  that  I  have  built, 

A  fair  life's  just  reward  ; 
And  men  would  wonder  if  they  knew 
How  sad  I  feel  with  sins  so  few. 


202  PENITENCE. 

Alas !  they  only  see  in  part, 

When  thus  they  judge  the  whole  ; 
They  cannot  look  upon  the  heart, 

They  cannot  read  the  soul ; 
But  I  survey  myself  within, 

And  mournfully  I  feel 
How  deep  the  principle  of  sin 

Its  root  may  there  conceal, 
And  spread  its  poison  through  the  frame, 
Without  a  deed  that  men  can  blame. 

They  judge  by  actions  which  they  see 

Brought  out  before  the  sun  ; 
But  conscience  brings  reproach  to  me 

For  what  I  've  left  undone, — 
For  opportunities  of  good 

In  folly  thrown  away, 
For  hours  misspent  in  solitude, 

Forgetful ness  to  pray,  — 
And  thousand  more  omitted  things, 
Whose  memory  fills  my  breast  with  stings. 

And  therefore  is  my  heart  oppressed 
With  thoughtfulness  and  gloom  ; 

Nor  can  I  hope  for  perfect  rest, 
Till  I  escape  this  doom. 

Help  me,  thou  Merciful  and  Just, 
This  fearful  doom  to  fly  ; 


A    SUPPLICATION.  203 

Thou  art  my  strength,  my  hope,  my  trust ;  — 

O  help  me  lest  I  die ! 
And  let  my  full  obedience  prove 
The  perfect  power  of  faith  and  love. 


A   SUPPLICATION. 


F.   D.   HUXTIXGTOX. 


0  Love  Divine!  lay  on  me  burdens,  if  thou  wilt; 
Burdens  to   break  in  mercy  my  fond,  feverish 

sleep ; 
Turn  comforts  into  awful  prophets  to  my  guilt ; 
Let  me  but  at  thy  wondrous  footstool  fall  and 

weep! 

Visit  and  change,  uplift,  ennoble,  recreate  me ! 
Ordain  whatever  masters  in  thy  saving  school ; 
Let  the  whole  eager  host  of  Fashion's  votaries 

hate  me, 
So  thou  wilt  henceforth  guide  me  by  thy  loving 

rule. 

1  pray  not,  Lord,  to  be  redeemed  from  mortal 

sorrow ; 
Redeem  me  only  from  my  vain  and  mean  self- 
love  ; 


204  PENITENCE. 

Then  let  each  night  of  grief  lead  in  a  mourning 
morrow, 

Fear  shall  not  shake  my  trust  in  Thee,  —  my 
Peace  above. 

Yet  while  the  Resurrection  waves  its  signs  au- 
gust; 

Like  morning's  dewy  banners  on  a  cloudless  sky, 

My  weak  feet  cling  enamored  to  the  parching 
dust, 

And  on  the  sand  poor  pebbles  lure  my  roving 
eye. 

Ye  witnesses  of  silent,  sad  Gethsemane,  — 
That  shaded  garden  whence  light  breaks  for  all 

our  earth,  — 
Around  my  anguish  let  your  faithful  influence 

be! 
Ye  prayers  and  sighs  divine,  be  my  immortal 

birth  ! 

Vales  of  repentance  mount  to  hills  of  high  de- 
sire ; 

Seven  times  seven  suffering  years  earn  the  sab- 
batic rest ; 

Earth's  fickle,  cruel  lap  —  alternate  frost  and 
fire  — 

Tempers  beloved  disciples  for  the  Master's 
breast. 


A    SUPPLICATION.  205 

O  Way  for  all  that  live  !  heal  us  by  pain  and  loss ; 
Fill  all  our  years  with  toil,  and  bless  us  with  thy 

rod. 
Thy  bonds  bring  wider  freedom  ;  climbing,  by  the 

cross, 
Wins  that  brave  height  where  looms  the  city  of 

our  God! 

O  Sunshine,  rising  ever  on  our  nights  of  sadness! 

O  Best  of  all  our  good,  and  Pardoner  of  our  sin! 

Look  down  with  pity  on  our  unbelieving  mad- 
ness! 

To  heaven's  great  welcome  take  us,  homesick 
pilgrims,  in ! 

Spirit  that  overcame  the  world's  long  tribulation ! 

Try  faltering  faith,  and  make  it  firm  through 
much  enduring ; 

Feed  weary  hearts  with  patient  hopes  of  thy  sal- 
vation ; 

Make  strait  submission,  more  than  luxury's  ease, 
alluring. 

Hallow  our  wit  with  prayer ;  our  mastery  steep 
in  meekness ; 

Pour  on  our  study  inspiration's  holy  light ; 

Hew  out,  for  Christ's  dear  Church,  a  future  with- 
out weakness, 

Quarried  from  thine  eternal  Beauty,  Order,  Might! 

18 


206  PENITENCE. 

Met  there,  mankind's  great  brotherhood  of  souls 
and  powers, 

Raise  thou  full  praises  from  its  farthest  corners 
dim  ; 

Pour  down,  O  steadfast  Sun !  thy  beams  on  all 
its  towers ; 

Roll  through  its  world-wide  spaces  Faith's  ma- 
jestic hymn. 

Come,  age  of  God's  own  Truth,  after  man's  age 

of  fables ! 
Seed  sown  in  Eden,  yield  the  nation's  healing 

tree ! 
Ebal  and  Sinai,  Mamre's  tent,  the  Hebrew  tables, 
All  look  towards  Olivet,  and  bend  to  Calvary. 

Fold  of  the  tender  Shepherd !  rise,  and  spread  ! 
Arch  o'er  our  frailty  roofs  of  everlasting  strength! 
Be  all  the  body  gathered  to  its  living  Head ! 
"Wanderers  we  faint :  O  let  us  find  our  Lord  at 
length ! 


a  hymn.  207 


A  HYMN. 


O.    W.    -WITIIINGTON. 


If,  in  its  song  to  Thee,  my  hand  alone 

Hath  touched  the  harp,  (my  heart  forgetting 
Thee,)  — 
If  other  feelings  have  inspired  its  tone 

Than  such  as  thou  might'st  well  approve  in 
me, — 

0  give  me  grace,  that  when  I  wake  again 
Its  chord,  my  soul  may  mingle  in  the  strain  ! 

1  have  been  cold  :    O  warm  my  heart,  and  stir 

Its  better  thoughts !   I  have  been  vain  :  renew 
In  me  the  feelings  of  a  worshipper, 

Whose  spirit  longs  to  be  more  just  and  true. 
Erring  and  weak,  —  Thou  canst  alone  impart 
Joy  to  my  soul  and  sunshine  to  my  heart. 


208  PENITENCE. 

THE   SHRINE  AND  THE  CONFESSIONAL. 


C.   G.   FENNER. 


"  That  good  thinketh,  good  may  do, 
And  God  will  help  him  thar  to." 

Castel  of  Love.     1250. 

In  the  ruined  Hall  of  Life, 

Plunged  in  deep  remorse,  I  sit ; 
Rent  and  shattered  is  the  roof, 

Trembling  to  its  fall  is  it ; 
In  rank,  wild  luxuriance 

Has  the  ivy  Habit  clung 
Round  those  mouldering  buttresses, 

And  those  ruined  towers  among. 

Shattered  strength  and  falling  tower,  — 

Saints,  once  honored,  now  defaced,  — 
Streams  the  night-wind  drear  and  cold 

Where  the  shrine  of  old  was  placed. 
O  thou  stern  and  awful  wreck, 

Desolate  and  waste  and  wild  ! 
A  callous  man  I  stand  again 

Where  once  I  knelt  a  pure  young  child. 

And  a  dark  and  cowled  form, 
Slow,  unmoving,  sits  and  sighs  : 

Veiled  its  face,  —  I  only  see 

Those  earnest,  dark,  and  mournful  eyes. 

Visitant,  I  know  thy  name ; 
Deep  within  my  inmost  heart 


THE    SHRINH    AND    THE    CONFESSIONAL.      209 

Thrills  the  pang  that  tells  too  well, 
Thou  the  Avenging  Angel  art. 

While  I  gaze,  the  bitter  tears 

Scalding  fall  from  straining  eyes; 
Dread  and  anguish,  startling  fears, 

With  the  past  stern  memories  rise. 
I  am  sinful,  frail,  and  weak, 

O  my  God,  a  child  of  dast ! 
I  have  sinned  ;  O  Spirit  pure, 

Help  me,  for  in  thee  I  trust ! 


See  that  veiled  form  arise,  — 

Back  the  gloomy  cowl  she  throws  ! 
Gentler  beam  those  sad,  soft  eyes  ; 

From  those  lips  how  gently  Hows 
Soothing  speech  of  soothing  power : 

"  Mortal,  dread  me  not,  but  hear ; 
The  Angel  of  Repentance,  I 

Bid  thee  look  up,  and  never  fear. 

"  Leave  this  ruined  shrine,  depart ; 

Upward,  onward,  lies  thy  way  ; 
Upward,  with  a  cheerful  heart, 

Onward,  for  't  is  breaking  day. 
Thou  hast  dwelt  in  night  too  long ; 

List  those  cheering  notes,  nor  stay ; 
Hear  the  angels'  morning  song 

Bidding  thee  to  duty's  way." 

18* 


210 


PENITENCE. 

Now  the  ruined  hall  is  left ; 

On  life's  highway  glad  I  stand ; 
Behind  me  lies  the  desert  waste. 

With  free  heart  and  ready  hand 
Now  I  grasp  my  pilgrim  staff; 

Journey  on,  nor  look  behind, 
Upward,  onward,  o'er  the  hills, 

Till  my  home  in  God  I  find ! 


imiX   AXD  PRAYER. 


J.   F.   CLARKE. 


Infinite  Spirit !  who  art  round  us  ever, 

In  whom  we  float,  as  motes  in  summer  sky, 

May  neither  life  nor  death  the  sweet  bond  sever, 
Which  joins  us  to  our  unseen  Friend  on  high. 

Unseen,  —  yet  not  unfelt,  —  if  any  thought 
Has  raised  our  mind  from  earth,  or  pure  desire, 

A  generous  act,  or  noble  purpose  brought, 
It  is  thy  breath,  O  Lord,  which  fans  the  fire. 

To  me,  the  meanest  of  thy  creatures,  kneeling, 
Conscious  of  weakness,  ignorance,   sin,  and 
shame, 


HYMN    AXD    PRAYER.  211 

Give  such  a  force  of  holy  thought  and  feeling, 
That  I  may  live  to  glorify  thy  name ; 

That  I  may  conquer  base  desire  and  passion, 
That  I  may  rise  o'er  selfish  thought  and  will, 

O'ercome   the   world's    allurement,   threat,    and 
fashion, 
Walk  humbly,  softly,  leaning  on  thee  still. 

I  am  unworthy.  —  Yet  for  their  dear  sake 
I  ask,  whose  roots  planted  in  me  are  found, 

For  precious  vines  are  propped  by  rudest  stake, 
And  heavenly  roses  fed  in  darkest  ground. 

Beneath  my  leaves,  though  early  fallen  and  faded, 
Young   plants    are   warmed,   they   drink   my 
branches'  dew. 
Let  them  not,  Lord,  by  me  be  Upas-shaded ; 
Make  me  for  their  sake  firm,  and  pure,  and 
true. 

For  their  sake  too,  the  faithful,  wise,  and  bold, 
Whose  generous  love  has  been  my  pride  and 
stay, 

Those  who  have  found  in  me  some  trace  of  gold, 
For  their  sake  purify  my  lead  and  clay. 

And  let  not  all  the  pains  and  toil  be  wasted, 
Spent  on  my  youth  by  saints  now  gone  to  rest, 


212  PENITENCE. 

Nor  that  deep  sorrow  my  Redeemer  tasted 
When  on  his  soul  the  guilt  of  man  was  pressed. 

Tender  and  sensitive,  he  braved  the  storm, 
That  we  might  fly  a  well-deserved  fate, 

Poured  out  his  soul  in  supplication  warm, 

Looked  with  his  eyes  of  love  on  eyes  of  hate. 

Let  all  this  goodness  by  my  mind  be  seen, 
Let  all  this  mercy  on  my  heart  be  sealed ; 

Lord,  if  thou  wilt,  thy  power  can  make  me  clean ! 
O    speak   the    word,  —  thy    servant    shall   be 
healed ! 


A  MEDITATION. 

CHARLES   J.   FOX.* 


"  O  for  some  special  Providence ! 

O  for  some  miracle  !  " 
Thus  cry  our  ingrate  hearts,  nor  feel, 

Father !  thou  lov'st  us  well ; 
Thou  giv'st  the  seasons  in  their  course, 

The  rain  and  sweet  sunshine  ; 
And  air,  and  food,  and  light,  and  life, 

Are  constant  gifts  of  thine. 

*  Of  Nashua,  N.  H.    These  verses  were  written  a  few  days  before 
his  death. 


A    MEDITATION.  213 

When  health  is  bounding  in  each  vein, 

And  vigor  nerves  each  limb, 
On  the  praise-altar  of  our  hearts 

How  soon  the  fire  grows  dim ! 
But  when  come  sickness  and  distress, 

And  human  aid  is  vain, 
At  once  we  light  the  incense-cup, 

And  kneel  to  God  again. 

When  all  the  friends  we  love  the  most 

Return  our  hearts'  caress, 
And  life  is  full  of  joy  and  hope,  — 

Then  we  forget  to  bless : 
But  if  some  loved  one  pines,  and  Death 

Seems  hovering  in  the  air, 
O,  how  we  wrestle  for  his  life, 

With  fasting  and  with  prayer  ! 

When  fortune  wears  a  smiling  face, 

And  all  is  sunny-hued, 
When  all  around  we  see  no  cloud, 

How  weak  our  gratitude ! 
But  if  misfortune's  storm  beats  fierce 

On  our  devoted  breasts, 
We  strive  until  by  penitence 

God's  rainbow  on  us  rests. 

'T  is  ever  thus ;  —  God's  daily  gifts 
Wake  but  a  feeble  lay ; 


214  PENITENCE. 

We  feel  not,  know  not,  how  to  prize, 

Till  they  have  passed  away. 
Then,  then,  too  late,  we  see  Heaven's  glow 

Upon  their  upward  track, 
And  find  that  angels  have  been  here. 

And  try  to  hold  them  back. 

Lord !  if  thou  wert  not  perfect  love, 

How  could  we  be  forgiven  ? 
Scarce  greater  sin  was  his  who  fell, 

The  Morning  Star,  from  heaven ; 
Keep  us  from  such  ingratitude, 

While  pilgrims  here  we  roam, 
Till  thou  shalt  send  thine  angel  down 

To  guide  our  spirits  home ! 


HYMN  IN   SICKNESS. 


H.  WARE,  JR. 


Father,  thy  gentle  chastisement 
Falls  kindly  on  my  burdened  soul ; 

I  see  its  merciful  intent, 

To  warn  me  back  to  thy  control ; 

And  pray,  that,  while  I  kiss  the  rod, 

I  may  find  perfect  peace  with  God. 


THE    PILGRIM    AT    HEAVEN'S    GATE.  215 

The  errors  of  my  heart  I  know ; 

I  feel  my  deep  infirmities ; 
For  often  virtuous  feelings  glow, 

And  holy  purposes  arise, 
But,  like  the  morning  clouds,  decay, 
As  empty,  though  as  fair,  as  they. 

Forgive  the  weakness  I  deplore ; 

And  let  thy  peace  abound  in  me, 
That  I  may  trust  my  heart  no  more, 

But  wholly  cast  myself  on  thee. 
O  let  my  Father's  strength  be  mine, 
And  my  devoted  life  be  thine ! 


THE  PILGRIM  AT  HEAVEN'S  GATE. 

C.    G.    FEXXER. 

Casta  placent  Superis 
Pura  cum  veste  venite. 

England's  Jlelicon.     1600. 

My  Robe  of  Life  is  travel- worn, 
And  dusty  with  the  dusty  way ; 

It  beareth  marks  of  many  a  storm, 
It  beareth  marks  of  many  a  fray,  — 

The  morning  shower,  the  damp  night-dews, 

Have  left  their  dark,  discoloring  hues. 


216  PENITENCE. 

My  Robe  of  Life  is  scorched  and  burnt 
By  madly  rushing  through  the  fires, 

Where  sternest  teachings  I  have  learnt 
From  passionate  and  fell  desires ; 

Yet  not  without  the  loss  of  chaste 

White  innocence,  no  more  replaced, 

My  Robe  of  Life  is  blood-besprent,  — 
For  though  I  never  raised  the  knife 

To  smite  my  brother's  breast,  I  've  sent 
A  sharper  steel  through  his  soul's  life, 

And  made  his  heart  to  bleed  by  deep 

And  angry  words  that  murdered  sleep. 

My  Robe  of  Life  is  tear-bedewed,  — 

Tears  wrung  from  mine  and  others'  eyes, 

That  I  so  oft  have  shunned  the  good, 
That  ever  round  us,  God-sent,  lies, 

And  tears  by  deeper  anguish  forced 

From  consciousness  of  virtue  lost. 

My  Robe  of  Life  is  sin-bespotted, 

And  much  bewrayed  by  anxious  care, 

And  here  and  there  grown  thin  and  rotted 
Away  by  too  much  wear  and  tear,  — 

And  torn  by  thorny  thickets,  when 

Through  them  I  sought  the  road  again. 

My  Robe  of  Life  at  first  was  fair 
And  spotless  as  the  driven  snow, 


THE    PILGRIM    AT    IIEAVKVS    GATE.  217 

'T  was  flung  around  me  gently  there 

Where  spirits  first  from  Heaven  do  go ; 
And,  white  and  clean,  it  seemed  to  be 
A  type  of  God's  own  purity. 

0  Angel  at  the  Heavenly  Gate, 
How  can  I  hope  to  enter,  when 

At  that  high  portal,  lone  and  late, 

At  closing  eve  I  come  again, 
After  my  life-day  spent  and  past, 
With  this  worn  life-robe  round  me  cast  ? 

1  hear  a  voice  that,  soft  and  low, 
Bids  me  to  him,  my  Saviour,  fly, 

And  he  will  cleanse  as  white  as  snow 

Or  whitest  wool  this  robe,  and  I 
From  him  a  wedding-robe  shall  have, 
When  this  is  mouldered  in  the  grave. 

A  wedding-garment,  brighter  far 

Than  that  I  did  at  first  receive, 
Brighter  than  gleam  of  silvery  star, 

My  Saviour,  Christ,  to  me  will  give  ; 
And  flinging  off  Life's  Robe,  will  I 
Put  on  my  Immortality. 


19 


218  PENITENCE. 


THE   STUDENT. 

SACRED  OFFERING. 

"  He  knelt  down  by  my  bed,  and  prayed.  My  soul  was  thrilled 
by  the  sound  of  that  voice,  so  familiar,  and  so  loved,  and  a  thousand 
tender  recollections  crowded  upon  my  mind.  I  was  refreshed  and 
strengthened  as  I  listened,  and  lifted  nearer  to  heaven." 

Jot  ham  Anderson. 

I  rose  in  all  the  pride  of  youth, 

To  hail  the  light  that  round  me  lay ; 

Thirsting  for  knowledge  and  for  truth, 
My  soul  sprang  on  her  heavenly  way ; 

In  vain  the  mysteries  of  the  past, 

Still  sealed,  before  my  eyes  were  cast. 

I  proudly  thought  to  lift  that  veil 

Which  holier  hearts  than  mine  had  tried, 

Who,  with  long  years  of  study  pale, 
Still  found  their  loftier  faith  defied : 

'T  is  mine  !   I  cried,  that  meed  to  gain  ;  — 

Alas !  that  dream !  how  fond  and  vain ! 

An  eye  above  beheld  my  pride, 
As  bending  o'er  the  midnight  oil, 

How  earthly  and  unsanctified 

The  motives  that  still  urged  my  toil ; 

How  in  that  unseen  mental  strife, 

I  wasted  power,  and  health,  and  life. 


THE    STUDENT.  219 

Yes !  mortal  glory  shone  around. 

Its  beams  seemed  kindling  o'er  my  brow ; 

I  thought  my  youth's  long  sufferings  crowned. 
The  hour  of  struggle  over  now  : 

But  He  above  the  incense  spurned 

Which  with  an  earthly  splendor  burned. 

With  holier  aims  and  purer  fires 
He  bade  my  spirit  seek  his  shrine, 

Resign  to  him  my  heart's  desires, 
And  raise  them  to  a  crown  divine ; 

And  in  humility  and  tears 

He  bade  me  walk  my  future  years. 

That  chastening  hand  soon  laid  me  low ; 

Imagination,  wisdom,  power,  — 
What  were  they  in  my  overthrow  ? 

Oh !  could  they  soothe  my  dying  hour  ? 
A  still,  small  voice  was  whispering  there, 
u  Thy  pride  is  fallen,  —  thy  hope  is  prayer." 

The  weight  of  death  lay  on  my  heart, 
My  trembling  lips  refused  to  pray, 

As,  one  by  one,  I  saw  depart 
The  trusts  of  that  aspiring  day; 

Confused  and  stricken,  then  I  sought 

Some  anchor  for  my  parting  thought. 

And  I  was  not  forsaken.     He 
I  served  so  faithlessly  was  near ; 


220 


PENITENCE. 


His  pitying  eye  was  over  me, 

And  marking  every  secret  fear ; 
And  in  that  hour  of  wild  alarms 
He  gave  a  parent  to  my  arms. 

The  aged  knees  for  me  were  bent ; 

I  heard  the  voice  so  long  beloved ; 
A  calm  into  my  soul  was  sent, 

And  every  sense  was  sweetly  moved ; 
For  tender  memories  thronged  around 
Again  at  that  familiar  sound. 

I  wept,  and  all  my  weakness  owned,  — 
Those  sacred  words  unbound  my  grief ; 

The  truth,  the  way,  the  life,  I  found, 
As  on  His  breast  I  sought  relief, 

And  owned,  subdued,  the  light  of  heaven 

To  humble  hearts  alone  is  given. 


HYMN. 


J.  BOWSING. 


From  the  recesses  of  a  lowly  spirit 
My  humble  prayer  ascends.     O  Father  !  hear  it, 
Upsoaring  on  the  wings  of  fear  and  meekness,  — 
Forgive  its  weakness. 


HYMN.  221 

I  know,  I  feel,  how  mean  and  how  unworthy 
The  trembling  sacrifice  I  pour  before  thee ; 
What  can  I  offer  in  thy  presence  holy, 
But  sin  and  folly  ? 

For  in  thy  sight,  who  every  bosom  viewest, 
Cold  are  our  warmest  vows,  and  vain  our  truest ; 
Thoughts  of  a  hurrying  hour,  our  lips  repeat  them, 
Our  hearts  forget  them. 

We  see  thy  hand,  —  it  leads  us,  it  supports  us  ; 
We  hear  thy  voice,  —  it  counsels  and  it  courts  us ; 
And  then  we  turn  away,  —  and  still  thy  kindness 
Pardons  our  blindness. 

And  still  thy  rain  descends,  thy  sun  is  glowing, 
Fruits  ripen  round,  flowers  are  beneath  us  blow- 
ing 
And,  as  if  man  were  some  deserving  creature, 
Joy  covers  nature. 

O  how  long-suffering,  Lord  !  but  thou  delightest 
To  win  with  love  the  wandering, — thou  invitest, 
By  smiles  of  mercy,  not  by  frowns  or  terrors, 
Man  from  his  errors. 

Who  can  resist  thy  gentle  call,  appealing 

To  every  generous  thought,  and  grateful  feeling  ? 

19* 


222  PENITENCE. 

That  voice  paternal,  whispering,  watching  ever? 
My  bosom  ?  —  Never ! 

Father  and  Saviour !  plant  within  that  bosom 
These  seeds  of  holiness,  and  bid  them  blossom 
In  fragrance  and  in  beauty  bright  and  vernal, 
And  spring  eternal. 

Then  place  them  in  those  everlasting  gardens, 
"Where  angels  walk,  and  seraphs  are  the  wardens ; 
Where  every  flower  that  creeps  through  death's 
dark  portal 
Becomes  immortal. 


THE   GATE   OF  HEAVEN. 

disciples'  hymn-book. 

She  stood  outside  the  gate  of  heaven,  and  saw 

them  entering  in, 
A  world-long  train  of  shining  ones,  all  washed 

in  blood  from  sin. 

The  hero-martyr  in  that  blaze  uplifted  his  strong 
eye, 

And  trod  firm  the  reconquered  soil  of  his  na- 
tivity ! 


THE    GATE    OF    HEAVEN. 

And  he  who  had  despised   his  life,  and  laid  it 

down  in  pain, 
Now  triumphed  in  its  worthiness,  and  took  it  up 

again. 

The  holy  one,  who  had  met  God  in  desert  eave 

alone, 
Feared  not  to  stand  with  brethren  around  the 

Father's  throne. 

They  who  had  done,  in  darkest  night,  the  deeds 

of  light  and  flame, 
Circled  with  them  about  as  with  a  glowing  halo 

came. 

And  humble  souls,  who  held  themselves  too  dear 

for  earth  to  buy, 
Now  passed  through  the  golden  gate,  to   live 

eternally. 

And  when  into   the  glory  the  last   of  all   did 

"  Thank   God !   there  is    a   heaven,"   she    cried, 
tf  though  mine  is  endless  woe." 

The  angel  of  the  golden  gate  said :  "  Where,  then, 

dost  thou  dwell  ? 
And  who  art  thou  that   enterest   not ?  "  —  "A 

soul  escaped  from  hell." 


224  PENITENCE. 

*  Who  knows  to  bless  with  prayer  like  thine,  in 

hell  can  never  be ; 
God's  angel  could  not,  if  he  would,  bar  up  this 

door  from  thee." 

She  left  her  sin  outside  the  gate,  she  meekly 

entered  there, 
Breathed  free  the   blessed   air   of  heaven,   and 

knew  her  native  air. 


PART   VII. 

TRUST   AND   SUBMISSION. 


ACTION  AXD  THOUGHT. 


K.    M.    MILXES. 


There  is  a  world  where  struggle  and  stern  toil 

Are  all  the  nurture  of  the  soul  of  man, — 

Ordained  to  raise  from  life's  ungrateful  soil 

Pain  as  he  must,  and  Pleasure  as  he  can. 

Then  to  that  other  world  of  thought  from  this 

Turns  the  sad  soul,  all  hopeful  of  repose, 

But  round  in  weirdest  metamorphosis, 

False  shapes  and  true,  divine  and  devilish,  close. 

Above  these  two,  and  resting  upon  each 

A  meditative  and  compassionate  eye, 

Broodeth  the  Spirit  of  God  ;  thence  evermore, 

On  those  poor  wanderers,  cast  from  shore  to  shore, 

Falleth  a  voice,  omnipotent  to  teach 

Them  that  will  hear,  —  "  Despair  not !  it  is  I." 


226  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 


FROM  "THE   PIEAA'EXLY  FRIEND." 

BERNARD    BARTOX. 

There  is  a  Friend  more  tender,  true 

Than  brother  e'er  can  be  ; 
Who,  when  all  others  bid  adieu, 

Will  still  abide  by  thee ; 
Who,  be  their  pathway  bright  or  dim, 
Deserts  not  those  that  turn  to  Him. 

The  heart  by  Him  sustained,  though  deep 

Its  anguish,  still  can  bear  ; 
The  soul  He  condescends  to  keep, 

Shall  never  know  despair ; 
In  nature's  weakness,  sorrow's  night, 
God  is  its  strength,  its  joy,  and  light. 

He  is  the  Friend  who  changeth  not 

In  sickness  or  in  health, 
Whether  on  earth  our  transient  lot 

Be  poverty  or  wealth  ; 
In  joy  or  grief,  contempt  or  fame, 
To  all  who  seek  Him  still  the  same. 

Of  human  hearts  He  holds  the  key : 

Is  friendship  meet  for  ours  ? 
O,  be  assured  that  none  but  He 

Unlocks  its  purest  powers  : 


A    REMONSTRANCE.  227 

He  can  recall  the  lost,  the  dead, 
Or  give  us  nobler  in  their  stead. 

Of  earthly  friends,  —  who  finds  them  true 

May  boast  a  happy  lot ; 
But  happier  still,  life's  journey  through, 

Is  he  who  needs  them  not : 
A  heavenly  Friend,  —  to  know  we  need, 
To  feel  we  have,  —  is  bliss  indeed. 


A  REMONSTRANCE 

TO    A    FRIEND    WHO    COMPLAINED   TO    THE   AUTHOR    THAT 
HE    WAS    "ALL    ALONE." 

A.   A.    WATTS. 

O,  say  not  thou  art  all  alone 

Upon  this  wide,  cold-hearted  earth  ; 
Sigh  not  o'er  joys  for  ever  flown,  — 

The  vacant  chair,  the  silent  hearth  : 
Why  should  the  world's  unholy  mirth 

Upon  thy  quiet  dreams  intrude, 
To  scare  those  shapes  of  heavenly  birth 

That  people  oft  thy  solitude  ? 


228  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

Though  many  a  fervent  hope  of  youth 

Hath  passed,  and  scarcely  left  a  trace  ; 
Though  earth-born  love,  its  tears  and  truth, 

No  longer  in  thy  heart  have  place ; 
Nor  time,  nor  grief  can  e'er  efface 

The  brighter  hopes  that  now  are  thine,  — 
The  fadeless  love,  all-pitying  grace, 

That  makes  thy  darkest  hours  divine ! 


Not  all  alone  ;  for  thou  canst  hold 

a 


Communion  sweet  with  saint  and  sage, 
And  gather  gems,  of  price  untold, 

From  many  a  consecrated  page  : 
Youth's  dreams,  the  golden  lights  of  age, 

The  poet's  lore,  are  still  thine  own ; 
Then,  while  such  themes  thy  thoughts  engage, 

O,  how  canst  thou  be  all  alone ! 

Not  all  alone  ;  the  lark's  rich  note, 

As,  mounting  up  to  heaven,  she  sings  ; 
The  thousand  silver  sounds  that  float 

Above,  below,  on  morning's  wings  ; 
The  softer  murmurs  twilight  brings, — 

The  cricket's  chirp,  cicada's  glee  ; 
All  earth,  that  lyre  of  myriad  strings, 

Is  jubilant  with  life  for  thee  ! 

Not  all  alone ;  the  whispering  trees, 
The  rippling  brook,  the  starry  sky, 


QUIET    FROM    GOD.  229 

Have  each  peculiar  harmonies 
To  soothe,  subdue,  and  sanctify : 

The  low,  sweet  breath  of  evening's  sigh, 
For  thee  hath  oft  a  friendly  tone, 

To  lift  thy  grateful  thoughts  on  high, 
And  say,  thou  art  not  all  alone ! 

Not  all  alone  ;  a  watchful  Eye, 

That  notes  the  wandering  sparrow's  fall, 
A  saving  Hand,  is  ever  nigh, 

A  gracious  Power  attends  thy  call ;  — 
When  sadness  holds  the  heart  in  thrall, 

Oft  is  His  tenderest  mercy  shown  ; 
Seek  then  the  balm  vouchsafed  to  all, 

And  thou  canst  never  be  alone  ! 


QUIET  FROM  GOD. 


SACKED    OFFERING. 


"If  he  giveth  quiet,  who  can  make  trouble ?"— Job  xxxiv.  29. 

Quiet  from  God !     It  cometh  not  to  still 
The  vast  and  high  aspirings  of  the  soul,  — 

The  deep  emotions  which  the  spirit  fill, 
And  speed  its  purpose  onward  to  the  goal ; 
20 


230  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

It  dims  not  youth's  bright  eye. 
Bends  not  joy's  lofty  brow, 

No  guiltless  ecstasy 

Need  in  its  presence  bow. 

It  comes  not  in  a  sullen  form,  to  place 

Life's  greatest  good  in  an  inglorious  rest ; 
Through  a  dull,  beaten  track  its  way  to  trace, 
And  to  lethargic  slumber  lull  the  breast : 
Action  may  be  its  sphere, 

Mountain  paths,  —  boundless  fields ; 
O'er  billows  its  career : 

This  is  the  power  it  yields ;  — 

To  sojourn  in  the  world,  and  yet  apart ; 

To  dwell  with  God,  yet  still  with  man  to  feel ; 
To  bear  about  for  ever  in  the  heart 

The  gladness  which  His  Spirit  doth  reveal ; 
Not  to  deem  evil  gone 

From  every  earthly  scene ; 
To  see  the  storm  come  on, 
But  feel  his  shield  between. 

It  giveth  not  a  strength  to  human  kind 

To  leave  all  suffering  powerless  at  its  feet, 
But  keeps  within  the  temple  of  the  mind, 
A  golden  altar,  and  a  mercy-seat, 
A  spiritual  ark, 

Bearing  the  peace  of  God, 


QUIET    FROM    GOD.  *~231 

Above  the  waters  dark, 
And  o'er  the  desert's  sod. 

How  beautiful  within  our  souls  to  keep 

This  treasure,  the  All-merciful  hath  given ; 
To  feel,  when  we  awake,  and  when  we  sleep, 
Its  incense  round  us,  like  a  breeze  from  heaven! 
Quiet  at  heart  and  home, 

Where  the  heart's  joys  begin  ; 
Quiet  where'er  we  roam, 
Quiet  around,  within. 

Who  shall  make  trouble  ?     Not  the  evil  minds 

Which  like  a  shadow  o'er  creation  lower. 
The  spirit  peace  hath  so  attuned  finds 

There  feelings  that  may  own  the  Calmer's  power. 
What  may  she  not  confer, 

E'en  where  she  must  condemn  ? 
They  take  not  peace  from  her ; 
She  may  speak  peace  to  them. 

What  shall  make  trouble  ?    Not  an  adverse  fate, 

Not  chilly  poverty,  nor  worldly  care ; 
They  who  are  tending  to  a  better  state 

Want  but  that  peace  to  make  them  feel  they  are. 
Care  o'er  life's  little  day 

The  tempest-cloud  may  roll ; 
Peace  o'er  its  eve  will  play, 
The  moonlight  of  the  soul. 


232  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

Who  shall  make  trouble  ?     Not  the  holy  thought 

Of  the  departed,  —  that  will  be  a  part 
Of   those    undying    things    which    peace    hath 
wrought 
Into  a  world  of  beauty  in  the  heart : 
Not  the  forms  passed  away, 

Which  time's  strong  current  bore  ; 
The  dark  stream  might  not  stay, 
The  ocean  will  restore. 

W  ho  shall  make  trouble  ?    Not  slow-wasting  pain, 

Not  the  impending,  certain  stroke  of  death ; 
These  do  but  wear  away,  then  snap  the  chain 
Which  bound  the  spirit  down  to  things  beneath. 
The  quiet  of  the  grave 

No  trouble  can  destroy  ; 
He  who  is  strong  to  save 

Shall  break  it,  —  but  with  joy. 


BALLAD   OF  THE    TEMPEST. 


J.    T.    FIELDS. 


We  were  crowded  in  the  cabin, 
Not  a  soul  would  dare  to  sleep, 

It  was  midnight  on  the  waters, 
And  a  storm  was  on  the  deep. 


BALLAD    OF    THE    TEMPEST.  22o 

'Tis  a  fearful  tiling  in  winter 

To  be  shattered  in  the  blast, 
And  to  hear  the  rattling  trumpet 

Thunder,  "  Cut  away  the  mast !  " 

So  we  shuddered  there  in  silence,  — 
For  the  stoutest  held  his  breath, 

While  the  hungry  sea  was  roaring, 
And  the  breakers  talked  with  Death. 

As  thus  we  sat  in  darkness, 

Each  one  busy  in  his  prayers, — 

u  We  are  lost !  "  the  captain  shouted, 
As  he  staggered  down  the  stairs. 

But  his  little  daughter  whispered, 

As  she  took  his  icy  hand, 
"  Is  n't  God  upon  the  ocean, 

Just  the  same  as  on  the  land  ?  " 

Then  we  kissed  the  little  maiden, 

And  we  spoke  in  better  cheer, 
And  we  anchored  safe  in  harbor 

When  the  morn  was  shining  clear. 


20* 


234  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

WBITTEN  IX  SICKNESS. 

JOHN   QUIXCT  ADAMS. 

Lord  of  all  worlds  !  let  thanks  and  praise 

To  thee  for  ever  fill  my  soul ; 
With  blessings  thou  hast  crowned  my  days,- 

My  heart,  my  head,  my  hand  control : 
O  let  no  vain  presumption  rise, 

No  impious  murmur  in  my  heart, 
To  crave  the  boon  thy  will  denies, 

Or  shrink  from  ill  thy  hands  impart ! 

My  soul,  with  endless  being  fraught, 

Created  by  thy  gracious  laws, 
With  fancy,  reason,  judgment,  thought, 

The  links  between  effect  and  cause, 
Are  gifts  of  goodness  all  divine,  — 

Sprung  from  the  clod,  to  heaven  they  rise, 
Immortal  life  with  dust  combine, 

And  blend  in  union  earth  and  skies. 

Life,  health,  and  nurture  to  the  boy 

See  from  the  mother's  breast  supplied ; 
Yet  not  for  ever  streams  the  joy,  — 

That  flowing  fountain  must  be  dried  : 
Weaned,  the  fond  mother's  darling  still 

Without  complaint  bereavement  bears, 
No  longer  drains  the  milky  rill, 

But  still  the  flood  of  bounty  shares. 


WRITTEN    IN    SICKNESS.  235 

That  child  am  I,  and  not  an  hour, 

Revolving  in  the  orbs  above, 
But  brings  some  token  of  thy  power, 

But  brings  some  token  of  thy  love. 
And  shall  this  bosom  dare  repine, 

In  darkness  dare  deny  the  dawn, 
Or  spurn  the  treasures  of  the  mine, 

Because  one  diamond  is  withdrawn  ? 

The  fool  denies,  the  fool  alone, 

Thy  being,  Lord,  and  boundless  might, 
Denies  the  firmament  thy  throne, 

Denies  the  Sun's  meridian  light, 
Denies  the  fashion  of  his  frame, 

The  voice  he  hears,  the  breath  he  draws : 
O  idiot  atheist !  to  proclaim 

Effects  unnumbered  without  cause  ! 

Matter  and  mind,  mysterious  one, 

Are  man's  for  threescore  years  and  ten ; 
Where,  ere  the  thread  of  life  was  spun  ? 

Where,  when  reduced  to  dust  again  ? 
All-seeing  God !  the  doubt  suppress,  — 

The  doubt  thou  only  canst  relieve  ; 
My  soul  thy  Saviour  Son  shall  bless, 

Fly  to  thy  Gospel,  and  believe. 


236  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 


"A  LITTLE  BIRD  I  AM." 

WRITTEN   IN   PRISON. 
MADAME     GUYOX. 

A  little  bird  I  am, 

Shut  from  the  fields  of  air  ; 
And  in  my  cage  I  sit  and  sing 

To  Him  who  placed  me  there  ; 
Well  pleased  a  prisoner  to  be, 
Because,  my  God,  it  pleases  thee. 

Naught  have  I  else  to  do  ; 

I  sing  the  whole  day  long ; 
And  He  whom  most  I  love  to  please 

Doth  listen  to  my  song ; 
He  caught  and  bound  my  wandering  wing, 
But  still  he  bends  to  hear  me  sing. 

Thou  hast  an  ear  to  hear, 

A  heart  to  love  and  bless ; 
And  though  my  notes  were  ne'er  so  rude, 

Thou  would'st  not  hear  the  less  ; 
Because  thou  knowest,  as  they  fall, 
That  Love,  sweet  Love,  inspires  them  all. 

My  cage  confines  me  round; 
Abroad  I  cannot  fly  ; 


THE     ALPINE    CROSS.  237 

But  though  my  wing  is  closely  bound, 

My  heart  's  at  liberty. 
My  prison  walls  cannot  control 
The  flight,  the  freedom  of  the  soul. 

O,  it  is  good  to  soar 

These  bolts  and  bars  above, 
To  Him  whose  purpose  I  adore, 

Whose  providence  I  love ! 
And  in  Thy  mighty  will  to  find 
The  joy,  the  freedom,  of  the  mind. 


THE   ALPLNE   CROSS. 


J.    T.    FIELDS. 


Benighted  once  where  Alpine  storms 
Have  buried  hosts  of  martial  forms, 
Halting  with  fear,  benumbed  with  cold, 
While  swift  the  avalanches  rolled, 
Shouted  our  guide,  with  quivering  breath, 
"  The  path  is  lost !  to  move  is  death ! " 

The  savage  snow-cliffs  seemed  to  frown, 
The  howling  winds  came  fiercer  down ; 
Shrouded  in  such  a  dismal  scene, 
No  mortal  aid  whereon  to  lean, 


238 


TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 


Think  you  what  music  't  was  to  hear, 
"  I  see  the  Cross !  our  way  is  clear ! " 

We  looked,  and  there,  amid  the  snows, 
A  simple  cross  of  wood  uprose. 
Firm  in  the  tempest's  awful  wrath, 
It  stood  to  guide  the  traveller's  path, 
And  point  to  where  the  valley  lies, 
Serene  beneath  the  summer  skies. 

One  dear  companion  of  that  night 
Has  passed  away  from  human  sight. 
He  reached  his  home  to  droop  and  fade, 
And  sleep  within  his  native  glade  ; 
But  as  his  fluttering  hand  I  took, 
Before  he  gave  his  farewell  look, 
He  whispered  from  his  bed  of  pain, 
"  The  Alpine  cross  I  see  again !  " 
Then,  smiling,  sank  to  endless  rest, 
Upon  his  weeping  mother's  breast 


PRISONS  DO  NOT  EXCLUDE   GOD. 


MADAME   GUYOX. 


Strong  are  the  walls  around  me, 
That  hold  me  all  the  day  ; 


PRISONS    DO    NOT    EXCLUDE    GOD.  239 

But  they  who  thus  have  bound  me 

Cannot  keep  God  away  : 
My  very  dungeon  walls  are  dear, 
Because  the  God  I  love  is  here. 

They  know,  who  thus  oppress  me, 

'T  is  hard  to  be  alone ; 
But  know  not,  One  can  bless  me, 

Who  comes  through  bars  and  stone  : 
He  makes  my  dungeon's  darkness  bright, 
And  fills  my  bosom  with  delight. 

Thy  love,  O  God !  restores  me 
From  sighs  and  tears  to  praise ; 

And  deep  my  soul  adores  thee, 
Nor  thinks  of  time  or  place : 

I  ask  no  more,  in  good  or  ill, 

But  union  with  thy  holy  will. 

'T  is  that  which  makes  my  treasure, 
'T  is  that  which  brings  my  gain  ; 

Converting  woe  to  pleasure, 
And  reaping  joy  from  pain. 

O,  't  is  enough,  whate'er  befall, 

To  know  that  God  is  All  in  All. 


240  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 


DE  PROFUNDIS. 

WILLIAM   CROSWELL. 

"  There  may  be  a  cloud  without  a  rainbow,  but  there  cannot  be  a 
rainbow  without  a  cloud." 

My  soul  were  dark 
But  for  the  golden  light  and  rainbow  hue 
That,  sweeping  heaven  with  their  triumphant  arc, 

Break  on  the  view. 

Enough  to  feel 
That  God  indeed  is  good !  enough  to  know 
Without  the  gloomy  clouds  he  could  reveal 

No  beauteous  bow. 


"WHY  THUS  LONGING?" 


MISS   WINSLOW. 


Why  thus  longing,  thus  for  ever  sighing 
For  the  far-off,  unattained,  and  dim ; 

While  the  beautiful,  all  round  thee  lying, 
Offers  up  its  low,  perpetual  hymn  ? 

Wouldst  thou  listen  to  its  gentle  teaching, 
All  thy  restless  yearnings  it  would  still ; 

Leaf  and  flower,  and  laden  bee,  are  preaching, 
Thine  own  sphere,  though  humble,  first  to  fill. 


"  WHY    THUS    LONGING  ?  "  241 

Poor  indeed  thou  must  be,  if  around  thee 
Thou  no  ray  of  light  and  joy  canst  throw  ; 

If  no  silken  cord  of  love  hath  bound  thee 

To  some  little  world  through  weal  and  woe; — 

If  no  dear  eyes  thy  fond  love  can  brighten, 
No  fond  voices  answer  to  thine  own ; 

If  no  brother's  sorrow  thou  canst  lighten, 
By  daily  sympathy  and  gentle  tone. 

Not  by  deeds  that  win  the  crowd's  applauses, 
Not  by  works  that  give  thee  world-renown, 

Not  by  martyrdom  or  vaunted  crosses, 

Canst  thou  win  and  wear  the  immortal  crown. 

Daily  struggling,  though  unloved  and  lonely, 
Every  day  a  rich  reward  will  give ; 

Thou  wilt  find,  by  hearty  striving  only, 
And  tally  loving,  thou  canst  truly  live. 

Dost  thou  revel  in  the  rosy  morning, 

When  all  nature  hails  the  Lord  of  light, 

And  his  smile,  the  mountain-tops  adorning, 
Robes  yon  fragrant  fields  in  radiance  bright  ? 

Other  hands  may  grasp  the  field  and  forest, 
Proud  proprietors  in  pomp  may  shine ; 

But  with  fervent  love  if  thou  adorest, 

Thou  art  wealthier,  —  all  the  world  is  thine  ! 
21 


242  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

Yet  if  through  earth's  wide  domains  thou  rovest, 
Sighing  that  they  are  not  thine  alone, 

Not  those  fair  fields,  but  thyself  thou  lovest, 
And  their  beauty  and  thy  worth  are  gone. 

Nature  wears  the  colors  of  the  spirit ; 

Sweetly  to  her  worshipper  she  sings ; 
All  the  glow,  the  grace,  she  doth  inherit, 

Round  her  trusting  child  she  fondly  flings. 


THE  POOR   CHILD'S  HYMN. 


MAEY   HO'SVITT. 


We  are  poor  and  lowly  born  ; 

"With  the  poor  we  bide  ; 
Labor  is  our  heritage, 

Care  and  want  beside. 
What  of  this  ?     Our  blessed  Lord 

Was  of  lowly  birth, 
And  poor,  toiling  fishermen 

Were  his  friends  on  earth ! 

We  are  ignorant  and  young  ; 

Simple  children  all ; 
Gifted  with  but  humble  powers, 

And  of  learning  small. 


HOPE    IS    BETTER    THAN    BABE.  243 

What  of  this  ?   Our  blessed  Lord 

Loved  such  as  we  ; 
How  he  blessed  the  little  ones 

Sitting  on  his  knee ! 


HOPE  IS  BETTER  Til  AN  EASE. 

J.   KEBLE.  —  CHRISTIAN   YEAR. 

"  I  desire  that  ye  faint  not  at  my  tribulations  for  you,  which  is 
your  glory."  — Ephesians  iii.  13. 

Wish  not,  dear  friends,  my  pain  away, — 
Wish  me  a  wise  and  thankful  heart, 

With  God,  in  all  my  griefs,  to  stay, 
Nor  from  his  loved  correction  start. 

The  dearest  offering  he  can  crave 
His  portion  in  our  souls  to  prove, 

What  is  it  to  the  gift  he  gave, 
The  only  Son  of  his  dear  love  ? 

But  we,  like  vexed,  unquiet  sprites, 
Will  still  be  hovering  o'er  the  tomb, 

Where  buried  lie  our  vain  delights, 
Nor  sweetly  take  a  sinner's  doom. 


In  life's  long  sickness  evermore 

Our  thoughts  are  tossing  to  and  fro 


244  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

We  change  our  posture  o'er  and  o'er, 
But  cannot  rest,  nor  cheat  our  woe. 

Were  it  not  better  to  lie  still, 

Let  Him  strike  home,  and  bless  the  rod,  — 
Never  so  safe  as  when  our  will 

Yields  undiscerned  by  all  but  God  ? 

Thy  precious  things,  whate'er  they  be 

That  haunt  and  vex  thee,  heart  and  brain, 

Look  to  the  cross,  and  thou  shalt  see 
How  thou  may'st  turn  them  all  to  gain. 

Lovest  thou  praise  ?  the  cross  is  shame ; 

Or  ease  ?  the  cross  is  bitter  grief; 
More  pangs  than  tongue  or  heart  can  frame 

Were  suffered  there  without  relief. 

We  of  that  altar  would  partake, 
But  cannot  quit  the  cost,  —  no  throne 

Is  ours,  to  leave  for  thy  dear  sake,  — 
We  cannot  do  as  thou  hast  done. 

We  cannot  part  with  heaven  for  Thee,  — 
Yet  guide  us  in  thy  track  of  love  ; 

Let  us  gaze  on  where  light  should  be, 
Though  not  a  beam  the  clouds  remove. 

So  wanderers  ever  fond  and  true 

Look  homeward  through  the  evening  sky, 


LINES. 


245 


Without  a  streak  of  heaven's  soft  blue 
To  aid  affection's  dreaming  eye. 

The  wanderer  seeks  his  native  bower, 
And  we  will  look  and  long  for  Thee, 

And  thank  thee  for  each  trying  hour, 
Wishing,  not  struggling,  to  be  free. 


LINES. 

OLIVER  W.   B.   PEABODY. 


O  who  that  has  gazed,  in  the  stillness  of  even, 

On  the  fast  fading  hues  of  the  west, 
Has  seen  not  afar,  in  the  bosom  of  heaven, 

Some  bright  little  mansion  of  rest, 
And  mourned  that  the  path  to  a  region  so  fair 

Should  be  shrouded  with  sadness  and  fears, — 
That  the  night-winds  of  sorrow,  misfortune,  and 

care 
Should  sweep  from  the  deep  rolling  waves  of 
despair, 

To  darken  this  cold  world  of  tears  ? 

And  who  that  has  gazed  has  not  longed  for  the 
hour 

When  misfortune  for  ever  shall  cease  ; 
21  # 


246  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

And  Hope,  like  the  rainbow,  unfold  through  the 
shower 

Her  bright- written  promise  of  peace  ? 
And  oh  !  if  that  rainbow  of  promise  may  shine 

On  the  last  scene  of  life's  wintry  gloom, 
May  its  light  in  the  moment  of  parting  be  mine ; 
I  ask  but  one  ray  from  a  source  so  divine, 

To  brighten  the  vale  of  the  tomb. 


CONSOLATIONS. 


HARRIET  MABTENEAU. 


Mourner!  thou  seekest  Rest. 
Rise  from  thy  couch,  and  dry  the  tears  unblest, 
And  sigh  no  more  for  blessings  now  resigned. 
Go  to  the  fount  of  life  which  ever  flows ; 
There  thou  mayst  gain  oblivion  of  thy  woes, 
There  shall  thy  spirit  own  a  sweet  repose. 
Seek  Rest,  and  thou  shalt  find. 

Thou  seekest  Health  ;  and  how  ? 
Let  gloom  and  tears  no  more  thy  spirit  bow ; 
Health  springs  aloft  upon  the  viewless  wind : 
Up  to  the  mountain-top  pursue  her  flight ; 
Over  the  fresh  turf  track  her  footsteps  light ; 
In  hawthorn  bowers,  'mid  fountains  gushing  bright, 
Seek  her,  and  thou  shalt  find. 


CONSOLATIONS.  2  17 

But  Hope  hath  left  thee  too, 
'Mid  many  griefs,  and  comforts  all  too  few. 
Think  not  her  angel-presence  is  confined 
To  earth ;  but  seek  the  helps  which  God  hath  given 
To  aid  thy  feeble  sight,  and  through  the  heaven 
See  where  she  soars,  bright  as  the  star  of  even. 
Then  seek,  and  thou  shalt  find. 

Dost  thou  seek  Peace,  and  wThere  ? 
'Mong  thine  own  withered  hopes  ?     She  is  not 

there. 
Nor  in  the  depths  of  thine  own  darkened  mind. 
Lay  thy  heart  open  to  the  infant's  mirth, 
Send  the  bright  hopes  of  others  from  their  birth, 
Look  round  for  all  that 's  beautiful  on  earth. 
Seek  Peace,  and  thou  shalt  find. 

Seek  Peace  and  Hope  and  Rest : 
And  as  the  eagle  flutters  o'er  her  nest,* 
And  bears  her  young,  all  trembling,  weak,  and 

blind, 
Up  to  heaven-gate  on  her  triumphant  wing,  — 
So  shall  the  Lord  thy  God  thy  spirit  bring 
To  whom  eternal  suns  their  radiance  fling. 
Him  seek,  and  thou  shalt  find. 

*  Deuteronomy  xxxii.  11. 


248  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 


PARAPHRASE   OF  PSALM  XXII. 

H.    K.    WHITE. 

My  God,  my  God,  O  why  dost  thou  forsake  me  ? 

Why  art  thou  distant  in  the  hour  of  fear? 
To  thee,  my  wonted  help,  I  still  betake  me, 

To  thee  I  clamor,  but  thou  dost  not  hear. 

The  beam  of  morning  witnesses  my  sighing, 
The  lonely  night-hour  views  me  weep  in  vain; 

Yet  thou  art  holy,  and  on  thee  relying, 

Our  fathers  were  released  from  grief  and  pain. 

To  thee  they  cried,  and  thou  didst  hear  their 
wailing, 

On  thee  they  trusted,  and  their  trust  was  sure ; 
But  I,  poor,  lost,  and  wretched  son  of  failing, 

I,  without  hope,  must  scorn  and  hate  endure. 

Me  they  revile  ;  with  many  ills  molested, 
They  bid  me  seek  of  thee,  O  Lord,  redress  : 

On  God,  they  say,  his  hope  and  trust  he  rested, 
Let  God  relieve  him  in  his  deep  distress. 

To  me,  Almighty,  in  thy  mercy  shining, 

Life's  dark  and  dangerous  portals  thou  didst 
ope; 


"to  whom  shall  we  go?"  249 

And,  softly  on  my  mother's  lap  reclining, 

Breathed  through  my  breast  the  lively  soul  of 
hope. 

Even  from  the  womb,  thou  art  my  God,  my  Father! 

Aid  me,  now  trouble  weighs  me  to  the  ground : 
Me  heavy  ills  have  worn,  and,  faint  and  feeble, 

The  bulls  of  Bashan  have  beset  me  round. 

My  heart  is  melted,  and  my  soul  is  weary; 
The  wicked  ones  have  pierced  my  hands  and 
feet! 
Lord,  let  thy  influence  cheer  my  bosom  dreary : 
My  help!  my  strength!  let  me  thy  presence 
greet ! 

Save  me !  O,  save  me  !  from  the  sword  dividing, 
Give  me  my  darling  from  the  jaws  of  death  ! 

Thee  will  I  praise,  and,  in  thy  name  confiding, 
Proclaim  thy  mercies  with  my  latest  breath. 


TO  WHOM   SHALL  WE  GO?" 


MRS.  E.  L.  FOLLEX. 


When  our  purest  delights  are  nipt  in  the  blossom, 
"When  those  we  love  best  are  laid  low, 

When  grief  plants  in  secret  her  thorns  in  the  bosom  j 
Deserted,  "  to  whom  shall  we  go  ?  " 


250  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

When  error  bewilders,  and  our  path  becomes 
dreary, 
And  tears  of  despondency  flow ; 
When  the  whole  head  is  sick,  and  the  whole 
heart  is  weary, 
Despairing,  "  to  whom  shall  we  go  ?  " 

When   the   sad,   thirsty   spirit    turns   from    the 
springs 

Of  enchantment  this  life  can  bestow, 
And  sighs  for  another,  and  flutters  its  wings, 

Impatient,  "  to  whom  shall  we  go  ?  " 

O  blest  be  that  light  which  has  parted  the  clouds, 

A  path  to  the  pilgrim  to  show, 
That  pierces  the  veil  which  the  future  enshrouds, 

And  shows  us  to  whom  we  may  go. 


A  PRAYER. 


E.  M.   MILXES. 


Evil,  every  living  hour, 
Holds  us  in  its  wilful  hand, 
Save  as  thou,  essential  Power, 
Mayst  be  gracious  to  withstand 
Pain  within  the  subtle  flesh, 
Heavy  lids  that  cannot  close, 


A    PRAYER.  851 

Hearts  that  hope  will  not  refresh,  — 
Hand  of  Healing !  interpose. 

Tyranny's  strong  breath  is  tainting 
Nature's  sweet  and  vivid  air, 
Nations  silently  are  fainting, 
Or  np-gather  in  despair  : 
Not  to  those  distracted  wills 
Trust  the  judgment  of  their  woes  ; 
While  the  cup  of  anguish  fills, 
Arm  of  Justice !  interpose. 

Pleasures  night  and  day  are  hovering 
Round  their  prey  of  weary  hours, 
Weakness  and  unrest  discovering 
In  the  best  of  human  powers  : 
Ere  the  fond  delusions  tire, 
Ere  envenomed  passion  grows 
From  the  root  of  vain  desire,  — 
Mind  of  Wisdom  !  interpose. 

Now  no  more  in  tuneful  motion 
Life  with  love  and  duty  glides ; 
Reason's  meteor-lighted  ocean 
Bears  us  down  its  mazy  tides  ; 
Head  is  clear  and  hand  is  strong, 


But  our  heart  no  haven  knows 
ight  is  lon0 


Sun  of  Truth  !  the  night  is  long, 
Let  thy  radiance  interpose  ! 


252  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 


GOD  RULING  IN  ALL. 

ALFRED   TENNYSON.  —  IN   MEMORIAM. 

Love  is  and  was  my  Lord  and  King, 
And  in  his  presence  I  attend 
To  hear  the  tidings  of  my  friend, 

Which  every  hour  his  couriers  bring. 

Love  is  and  was  my  King  and  Lord, 
And  will  be,  though  as  yet  I  keep 
Within  his  court  on  earth,  and  sleep 

Encompassed  by  his  faithful  guard, 

And  hear  at  times  a  sentinel 

That  moves  about  from  place  to  place, 
And  whispers  to  the  vast  of  space 

Among  the  worlds,  that  all  is  well. 

And  all  is  well,  though  faith  and  form 
Be  sundered  in  the  night  of  fear ; 
Well  roars  the  storm  to  those  that  hear 

A  deeper  voice  across  the  storm, 

Proclaiming  social  truth  shall  spread, 

And  justice,  e'en  though  thrice  again 
The  red  fool-fury  of  the  Seine 

Should  pile  her  barricades  with  dead. 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  253 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

CHARLES  KLXGSLEY. 

It  chanced  upon  the  merry,  merry  Christmas  eve 
I  went  sighing    past  the    church,  across   the 
moorland  dreary,  — 
"  Oh  !  never  sin  and  want  and  woe  this  earth  will 
leave, 
And  the  bells  but  mock  the  wailing   sound 
they  sing  so  cheery. 
How  long,  O  Lord  !  how  long  before  thou  come 
again  ? 
Still  in  cellar,  and  in  garret,  and  on  moorland 
dreary 
The  orphans  moan,  and  widows  weep,  and  poor 
men  toil  in  vain, 
Till  the  earth  is  sick  of  hope  deferred,  though 
Christmas  bells  be  cheery." 

Then  arose  a  joyous  clamor  from  the  wild-fowl 
on  the  mere, 
Beneath  the  stars,  across  the  snow,  like  clear 
bells  ringing, 
And  a  voice  cried :  "  Listen !   Christmas  carols 
even  here ! 
Though  thou  be  dumb,  yet  o'er  their  work  the 
stars  and  snows  are  singing. 
22 


254  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

Blind  !  I  live,  I  love,  I  reign  ;  and  all  the  nations 
through 
With  the  thunder  of  my  judgments  even  now 
are  ringing ; 
Do  thou  fulfil  thy  work,  but  as  yon  wild-fowl  do, 
Thou  wilt  heed  no  less  the  wailing,  yet  hear 
through  it  angels'  singing." 


THE  HOPE   OF  MAN. 


T.   W.   HIGGIXSOX. 


The  past  is  dark  with  sin  and  shame, 
The  future  dim  with  doubt  and  fear; 

But,  Father,  yet  we  praise  thy  name, 
Whose  guardian  love  is  always  near. 

For  man  has  striven,  ages  long, 

With  faltering  steps  to  come  to  thee, 

And  in  each  purpose  high  and  strong 
The  influence  of  thy  grace  could  see. 

He  could  not  breathe  an  earnest  prayer, 
But  thou  wast  kinder  than  he  dreamed, 

As  age  by  age  brought  hopes  more  fair, 
And  nearer  still  thy  kingdom  seemed. 


PRAYER. 


255 


But  never  rose  within  his  breast 

A  trust  so  calm  and  deep  as  now ;  — 

Shall  not  the  weary  find  a  rest  ? 
Father,  Preserver,  answer  thou ! 

'T  is  dark  around,  't  is  dark  above, 

But  through  the  shadow  streams  the  sun  ; 

"We  cannot  doubt  thy  certain  love, 
And  man's  true  aim  shall  yet  be  won ! 


P  R  A  Y  E  R  . 


R.    M.    MILNES. 


In  reverence  will  we  speak  of  those  that  woo 
The  ear  Divine  with  clear  and  ready  prayer ; 
And,  while  their  voices  cleave  the  Sabbath  air, 
Know  their  bright  thoughts  are  winging  heaven- 
ward too. 
Yet  many  a  one,  —  the  "  latchet  of  whose  shoe  " 
These  might  not  loose,  —  will  often  only  dare 
Lay  some  poor  words  between  him  and  despair, — 
"  Father,  forgive  !  we  know  not  what  we  do." 
For,  as  Christ  prayed,  so  echoes  our  weak  heart, 
Yearning  the  ways  of  God  to  vindicate, 


256  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

But  worn  and  wildered  by  the  shows  of  fate, 
Of  good  oppressed  and  beautiful  defiled, 
Dim  alien  force,  that  draws  or  holds  apart 
From  its  dear  home  that  wandering  spirit-child. 


HYMN. 


W.  H.  HUKLBUBT. 


We  will  not  weep,  —  for  God  is  standing  by  us, 
And  tears  will  blind  us  to  the  blessed  sight ; 

We  will  not  doubt ;  if  darkness  still  doth  try  us, 
Our  souls  have  promise  of  serenest  light. 

We  will  not  faint ;  if  heavy  burdens  bind  us, 
They  press  no  harder  than  our  souls  can  bear ; 

The  thorniest  way  is  lying  still  behind  us ; 
We  shall  be  braver  for  the  past  despair. 

O,  not  in  doubt  shall  be  our  journey's  ending, 
Sin  with  its  fears  shall  leave  us  at  the  last ; 

All  its  blest  hopes  in  glad  fulfilment  blending, 
Life  shall  be  with  us  when  the  death  is  past. 

Help  us,  O  Father !  when  the  world  is  pressing 
On  our  frail  hearts,  that  faint  without  their  friend ; 

Help  us,  O  Father !  let  thy  constant  blessing 
Strengthen  our  weakness,  —  till  the  joyful  end. 


THE    DEAD    CHURCH.  '.'' 


THE  DEAD   CHURCH. 

CHARLES   KINGSLEY. 

Wild,  wild  wind,  wilt  thou  never  cease  thy  sigh- 
ing? 

Dark,  dark  night,  wilt  thou  never  wear  away  ? 

Cold,  cold  church,  in  thy  death  sleep  lying, 

Thy  Lent  is  past,  thy  Passion  here,  but  not  thine 
Easter-day. 

Peace,  faint  heart,  though  the  night  be  dark  and 

sighing ; 
Rest,  fair  corpse,  where  thy  Lord  himself  hath 

lain. 
Weep,  dear  Lord,  where  thy  bride  is  lying ; 
Thy  tears  shall  wake  her  frozen  limbs  to  life  and 

health  again. 


HOPE,  DOUBT,  AND  TRUST. 
Alfred  jmiaom. — "n  memorlvm." 

O,  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 

Defects  of  doubt  and  taints  of  blood  ; 
22* 


258  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet ; 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroyed, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 

When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete  ; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain ; 
That  not  a  moth  with  vain  desire 
Is  shrivelled  in  a  fruitless  fire, 

Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 


Behold  !  we  know  not  anything  ; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last,  —  far  off,  —  at  last,  to  all, 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 

So  runs  my  dream  :  but  what  am  I  ? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night  : 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light : 

And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 


The  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole 

No  life  may  fail  beyond  the  grave,  — 
Derives  it  not  from  what  we  have 

The  likest  God  within  the  soul  ? 


HOPE,    DOUBT,    AND    TRUST.  2'59 

Are  God  and  Nature  then  at  strife, 

That  Nature  lends  such  evil  dreams  ? 
So  careful  of  the  type  she  seems, 

So  careless  of  the  single  life  ; 

That  I,  considering  everywhere 

Her  secret  meaning  in  her  deeds, 
And  finding  that  of  fifty  seeds 

She  often  brings  but  one  to  bear ; 

I  falter  where  I  firmly  trod, 

And  falling  with  my  weight  of  cares 
Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs, 

That  slope  through  darkness  up  to  God ; 

I  stretch  lame  hands  of  faith,  and  grope, 
And  gather  dust  and  chaff',  and  call 
To  what  I  feel  is  Lord  of  all, 

And  faintly  trust  the  larger  hope. 


260  TRUST    AND    SUBMISSION. 


THE  MILLENNIUM. 


O  scenes  surpassing  fable,  and  yet  true, 
Scenes  of  accomplished  bliss !  which  who  can 

see, 
Though  but  in  distant  prospect,  and  not  feel 
His  soul  refreshed  with  foretaste  of  the  joy  ? 
Bayers  of  gladness  water  all  the  earth, 
And  clothe  all  climes  with  beauty  :  the  reproach 
Of  barrenness  is  past.     The  fruitful  field 
Laughs  with  abundance ;  and  the  land,  once  lean 
Or  fertile  only  in  its  own  disgrace, 
Exults  to  see  its  thirsty  curse  repealed. 
The  various  seasons  woven  into  one, 
And  that  one  season  an  eternal  spring, 
The  garden  fears  no  blight,  and  needs  no  fence, 
For  there  is  none  to  covet,  all  are  full. 
The  lion,  and  the  libbard,  and  the  bear, 
Graze  with  the  fearless  flocks ;  all  bask  at  noon, 
Together,  or  all  gambol  in  the  shade 
Of  the  same  grove,  and  drink  one  common  stream, 
Antipathies  are  none.     No  foe  to  man 
Lurks  in  the  serpent  now :  the  mother  sees, 
And  smiles  to  see,  her  infant's  playful  hand 
Stretched  forth  to  dally  with  the  crested  worm, 
To  stroke  his  azure  neck,  or  to  receive 


THE    MILLENNIUM.  261 

The  lambent  homage  of  his  arrowy  tongue. 
All  creatures  worship  man,  and  all  mankind 
One  Lord,  one  Father.     Error  has  no  place  : 
That  creeping  pestilence  is  driven  away : 
The  breath  of  Heaven  has  chased  it.  In  the  heart 
No  passion  touches  a  discordant  string, 
But  all  is  harmony  and  love.     Disease 
Is  not :  the  pure  and  uncontaminate  blood 
Holds  its  due  course,  nor  feels  the  frost  of  age. 
One  song  employs  all  nations ;  and  all  cry, 
"  Worthy  the  Lamb,  for  he  was  slain  for  us ! " 
The  dwellers  in  the  vales  and  on  the  rocks 
Shout  to  each  other,  and  the  mountain-tops 
From  distant  mountains  catch  the  flying  joy  ; 
Till,  nation  after  nation  taught  the  strain, 
Earth  rolls  the  rapturous  Hosanna  round. 
Behold  the  measure  of  the  promise  filled  ; 
See  Salem  built,  the  labor  of  a  God  ! 
Bright  as  a  sun  the  sacred  city  shines ; 
All  kingdoms  and  all  princes  of  the  earth 
Flock  to  that  light ;  the  glory  of  all  lands 
Flows  into  her ;  unbounded  is  her  joy, 
And  endless  her  increase.     Thy  rams  are  there, 
Nebaioth,  and  the  flocks  of  Kedar  there  : 
The  looms  of  Ormus,  and  the  mines  of  Ind, 
And  Saba's  spicy  groves,  pay  tribute  there. 
Praise  is  in  all  her  gates :  upon  her  walls, 
And  in  her  streets,  and  in  her  spacious  courts, 
Is  heard  salvation.     Eastern  Java  there 


262  TRUST   AND    SUBMISSION. 

Kneels  with  the  native  of  the  farthest  West ; 

And  Ethiopia  spreads  abroad  the  hand, 

And  worships.     Her  report  has  travelled  forth 

Into  all  lands.     From  every  clime  they  come 

To  see  thy  beauty,  and  to  share  thy  joy, 

O  Sion !  an  assembly  such  as  Earth 

Saw  never,  such  as  Heaven  stoops  down  to  see. 


PART  VIII. 

DEATH   AND   IMMORTALITY. 


SONGS   OF  BEING. 

sahgext's  selection*. 
THE    BIRTH. 

Hail  !  new-waked  atom  of  the  eternal  whole, 
Young  voyager  upon  Time's  mighty  river ! 
Hail  to  thee,  Human  Soul ! 

Hail,  and  for  ever ! 
Pilgrim  of  life,  all  hail ! 
He  who  at  first  called  forth 
From  nothingness  the  earth, 
Who  clothed  the  hills  in  strength,  and  dug  the  sea, 
Who  gave  the  stars  to  gem 
Night  like  a  diadem, 

Thou  little  child,  made  thee  ; 
Young  habitant  of  earth 
Fair  as  its  flowers,  though  brought  in  sorrow  forth, 
Thou  art  akin  to  God  who  fashioned  thee ! 


264  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

The  heavens  themselves  shall  vanish  as  a  scroll, 
The  solid  earth  dissolve,  the  stars  grow  pale, 
But  thou,  O  Human  Soul, 

Shalt  be  immortal !     Hail ! 
Thou  young  Immortal,  Hail ! 
He,  before  whom  are  dim 
Seraph  and  cherubim, 
Who  gave  the  archangels  strength  and  majesty, 
Who  sits  upon  heaven's  throne, 
The  Everlasting  One, 

Thou  little  child,  made  thee  ! 
Fair  habitant  of  earth, 
Immortal  in  thy  God,  though  mortal  by  thy  birth, 
Born  for  life's  trials,  hail !  all  hail  to  thee  ! 

THE    DEATH. 

Shrink  not,  O  Human  Spirit! 
The  Everlasting  Arm  is  strong  to  save ! 

Look  up,  look  up,  frail  nature  !  put  thy  trust 
In  Him  who  went  down  mourning  to  the  dust, 

And  overcame  the  grave ! 

Quickly  goes  down  the  sun ; 

Life's  work  is  almost  done  ; 
Fruitless  endeavor,  hope  deferred,  and  strife ! 

One  little  struggle  more, 

One  pang,  and  then  is  o'er 
All  the  long,  mournful  weariness  of  life. 

Kind  friends,  't  is  almost  past ; 

Come  now,  and  look  your  last ! 


songs    or   BEING.  265 

Sweet  children,  gather  near, 

And  his  last  blessing  hear. 
See  how  he  loved  yon,  who  departeth  now ! 
And,  with  thy  trembling  step  and  pallid  brow, 

O,  most  beloved  one, 

Whose  breast  he  leaned  upon, 

Come,  faithful  unto  death, 

Receive  his  parting  breath ! 
The  fluttering  spirit  panteth  to  be  free,  — 
Hold  him  not  back  who  speeds  to  victory ! 
—  The  bonds  are  riven,  the  struggling  soul  is  free! 

Hail,  hail,  enfranchised  spirit ! 
Thou  that  the  wine-press  of  the  field  hast  trod  ! 
On,  blest  Immortal,  on  through  boundless  space, 
And  stand  with  thy  Redeemer,  face  to  face, 

And  bow  before  thy  God  ! 

Life's  weary  work  is  o'er, 

Thou  art  of  earth  no  more,  — 
No  more  art  trammelled  by  the  oppressive  clay, 

But  tread'st  with  winged  ease 

The  high  acclivities 
Of  truths  sublime,  up  heaven's  crystalline  way. 

Here  is  no  bootless  quest ; 

The  city's  name  is  Rest ; 

Here  shall  no  fear  appall ; 

Here  love  is  all  in  all ; 
Here  shalt  thou  win  thy  ardent  soul's  desire ; 
Here  clothe  thee  in  thy  beautiful  attire. 

23 


266  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Lift,  lift  thy  wondering  eyes  ! 

Yonder  is  Paradise, 

And  this  fair  shining  band 

Are  spirits  of  thy  land ! 
And  these  that  throng  to  meet  thee  are  thy  kin, 
Who  have  awaited  thee,  redeemed  from  sin ! 
The  city  gates  unfold,  —  enter,  O  enter  in  ! 


TO  NIGHT. 


J.   BLANCO   WHITE. 


Mysterious  Night !  when  our  first  parent  knew 
Thee  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 
Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 

This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue  ? 

Yet  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew, 

Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 
Hesperus  with  the  host  of  heaven  came, 

And  lo  !  creation  widened  in  man's  view. 

Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness   lay 
concealed 

Within  thy  beams,  O  sun  ?  or  who  could  find, 
Whilst  fly,  and  leaf,  and  insect  stood  revealed, 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  mad'st  us  blind  ? 
Why  do  we,  then,  shun  death  with  anxious 

strife  ? 
If  light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  life  ? 


A    WALK     IX    A    ClIUKCHYAUD.  ^<)7 


A  WALK  IN  A   CHURCHYARD. 

R.   C.   TRENCH. 

We  walked  within  the  churchyard  bounds, 

My  little  boy  and  I,  — 
He  laughing,  running  happy  rounds, 

I  pacing  mournfully. 

"  Nay,  child  !  it  is  not  well,"  I  said, 

u  Among  the  graves  to  shout, 
To  laugh  and  play  among  the  dead, 

And  make  this  noisy  rout." 

A  moment  to  my  side  he  clung, 

Leaving  his  merry  play, 
A  moment  stilled  his  joyous  tongue, 

Almost  as  hushed  as  they : 

Then,  quite  forgetting  the  command, 

In  life's  exulting  burst 
Of  early  glee,  let  go  my  hand, 

Joyous  as  at  the  first. 

And  now  I  did  not  check  him  more, 

For,  taught  by  Nature's  face, 
I  had  grown  wiser  than  before, 

Even  in  that  moment's  space. 


268  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

She  spread  no  funeral  pall  above 
That  patch  of  churchyard  ground. 

But  the  same  azure  vault  of  love 
As  hung  o'er  all  around. 

And  white  clouds  o'er  that  spot  would  pass, 

As  freely  as  elsewhere ; 
The  sunshine  on  no  other  grass 

A  richer  hue  might  wear. 

And  formed  from  out  that  very  mould 

In  which  the  dead  did  lie, 
The  daisy  with  its  eye  of  gold 

Looked  up  into  the  sky. 

The  rook  was  wheeling  overhead, 

Nor  hastened  to  be  gone,  — 
The  small  bud  did  its  glad  notes  shed, 

Perched  on  a  gray  headstone. 

And  God,  I  said,  would  never  give 

This  light  upon  the  earth, 
Nor  bid  in  childhood's  heart  to  live 

These  springs  of  gushing  mirth, 

If  our  one  wisdom  were  to  mourn 

And  linger  with  the  dead,  — 
To  nurse,  as  wisest,  thoughts  forlorn 

Of  worm  and  earthy  bed. 


THE    CHILD    AND    THE    MOURNERS.  2G9 

O  no!  the  glory  earth  puts  on, 

The  child's  unchecked  delight, 
Both  witness  to  a  triumph  won, 

(If  we  but  read  aright,)  — 

A  triumph  won  o'er  sin  and  death,  — 
From  these  the  Saviour  saves  ; 

And,  like  a  happy  infant,  Faith 
Can  play  among  the  graves. 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MOURNERS. 


C.    MACKAY. 


A  little  child  beneath  a  tree 

Sat  and  chanted  cheerily 

A  little  song,  a  pleasant  song, 

Which  was,  —  she  sang  it  all  day  long,  — 

"  When  the  wind  blows,  the  blossoms  fall ; 

But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all !  " 

There  passed  a  lady  by  the  way, 
Moaning  in  the  face  of  day  : 
There  were  tears  upon  her  check, 
Grief  in  her  heart  too  great  to  speak  ; 
Her  husband  died  but  yester-morn, 
And  left  her  in  the  world  forlorn. 

23* 


270  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

She  stopped  and  listened  to  the  child, 
That  looked  to  heaven,  and,  singing,  smiled 
And  saw  not  for  her  own  despair 
Another  lady,  young  and  fair, 
Who,  also  passing,  stopped  to  hear 
The  infant's  anthem  ringing  clear. 

For  she  but  few  sad  days  before 
Had  lost  the  little  babe  she  bore  ; 
And  grief  was  heavy  at  her  soul 
As  that  sweet  memory  o'er  her  stole, 
And  showed  how  bright  had  been  the  past, 
The  present  drear  and  overcast. 

And  as  they  stood  beneath  the  tree 
Listening,  soothed  and  placidly, 
A  youth  came  by,  whose  sunken  eyes 
Spake  of  a  load  of  miseries  ; 
And  he,  arrested  like  the  twain, 
Stopped  to  listen  to  the  strain. 

Death  had  bowed  the  youthful  head 
Of  his  bride  beloved,  his  bride  unwed  : 
Her  marriage  robes  were  fitted- on, 
Her  fair  young  face  with  blushes  shone, 
When  the  destroyer  smote  her  low, 
And  changed  the  lover's  bliss  to  woe. 

And  these  three  listened  to  the  song, 
Silver-toned,  and  sweet,  and  strong, 


THE    CHILD    AND    THE    MOURNERS.  271 

Which  that  child,  the  livelong  day, 
Chanted  to  itself  in  play  : 
"  When  the  wind  blows,  the  blossoms  fall ; 
But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all ! " 

The  widow's  lips  impulsive  moved  ; 
The  mother's  grief,  though  unrcproved, 
Softened,  as  her  trembling  tongue 
Repeated  what  the  infant  sung; 
And  the  sad  lover,  with  a  start, 
Conned  it  over  to  his  heart. 

And  though  the  child  —  if  child  it  were, 
And  not  a  seraph  sitting  there  — 
Was  seen  no  more,  the  sorrowing  three 
Went  on  their  way  resignedly, 
The  song  still  ringing  in  their  ears  :  — 
Was  it  music  of  the  spheres  ? 

Who  shall  tell  ?     They  did  not  know, 

But  in  the  midst  of  deepest  woe, 

The  strain  recurred  when  sorrow  grew, 

To  warn  them,  and  console  them  too : 

<;  When  the  wind  blows,  the  blossoms  fall ; 

But  a  good  God  reigns  over  all ! " 


'27'2  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 


LINES  ADDRESSED   TO   A  MOTHER.   OX  THE 
DEATH   OF   TWO  INFANTS. 

J.    Q.    ADAMS. 

Sure,  to  the  mansions  of  the  blest 

When  infant  innocence  ascends, 
Some  angel,  brighter  than  the  rest, 

The  spotless  spirit's  flight  attends. 
On  wings  of  ecstasy  they  rise 

Beyond  where  worlds  material  roll, 
Till  some  fair  sister  of  the  skies 

Receives  the  unpolluted  soul. 
There,  at  the  Almighty  Father's  hand, 

Nearest  the  throne  of  living  light, 
The  choirs  of  infant  seraphs  stand, 

And  dazzling  shine,  where  all  are  bright. 
Chained  for  a  dreary  length  of  years 

Down  to  these  elements  below, 
Some  stain  the  sky-born  spirit  bears 

Contracted  from  this  world  of  woe. 
That  unextingnishable  beam, 

With  dust  united  at  our  birth, 
Sheds  a  more  dim,  discolored  gleam, 
.  The  more  it  lingers  upon  earth. 
Closed  in  this  dark  abode  of  clay, 

The  stream  of  glory  faintly  burns  ; 
Not  unobscured,  the  lucid  ray 

To  its  own  native  fount  returns. 


LINES    ADDRESSED    TO    A    MOTHER.  273 

But  when  the  Lord  of  mortal  breath 

Decrees  his  bounty  to  resume, 
And  points  the  silent  shaft  of  death 

Which  speeds  an  infant  to  the  tomb, 
Xo  passion  fierce,  nor  low  desire, 

Has  quenched  the  radiance  of  the  flame  ; 
Back  to  its  God  the  living  fire 

Reverts,  unclouded  as  it  came. 
O  Anna  !  be  that  solace  thine  ; 

Let  Hope  her  healing  charm  impart, 
And  soothe,  with  melodies  divine, 
The  anguish  of  a  mother's  heart. 
O,  think  the  darlings  of  thy  love, 

Divested  of  this  earthly  clod, 
Amid  unnumbered  saints  above, 

Bask  in  the  bosom  of  their  God  ! 
Of  their  short  pilgrimage  on  earth 

Still  tender  images  remain  ; 
Still,  still  they  bless  thee  for  their  birth, 

Still,  filial  gratitude  retain. 
The  days  of  pain,  the  nights  of  care, 

The  bosom's  agonizing  strife, 
The  pangs  which  thou  for  them  didst  bear,  — 

No !  they  forget  them  not  with  life. 
Scarce  could  their  germing  thought  conceive, 

While  in  this  vale  of  tears  they  dwelt, 
Scarce  their  fond  sympathy  relieve 

The  sufferance  thou  for  them  hast  felt. 
But  there  the  soul's  perennial  flower 
Expands' in  never-fading  bloom, 


274  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Spurns  at  the  grave's  poor  transient  hour, 

And  shoots  immortal  from  the  tomb. 
No  weak,  unformed  idea  there 

Toils,  the  mere  promise  of  a  mind ; 
The  tide  of  intellect  flows  clear, 

Strong,  full,  unchanging,  and  refined. 
Each  anxious  care,  each  rending  sigh, 

That  wrung  for  them  the  parent's  breast, 
Dwells  on  remembrance  in  the  sky, 

Amid  the  raptures  of  the  blest. 
O'er  thee  with  looks  of  love  they  bend, 

For  thee  the  Lord  of  life  implore, 
And  oft  from  sainted  bliss  descend, 

Thy  wounded  quiet  to  restore. 
Oft  in  the  stillness  of  the  night 

They  smooth  the  pillow  for  thy  bed  ; 
Oft,  till  the  morn's  returning  light, 

Still  watchful  hover  o'er  thy  head. 
Hark!  in  such  strains  as  saints  employ, 

They  whisper  to  thy  bosom,  Peace ; 
Calm  the  perturbed  heart  to  joy, 

And  bid  the  streaming  sorrow  cease. 
Then  dry  henceforth  the  bitter  tear, 

Their  path  and  thine  inverted  see  ; 
Thou  wert  their  guardian  angel  here, 

They  guardian  angels  now  to  thee. 


TO    A    DYING    INFANT.  275 


TO  A  DYING  INFANT. 

MRS.   L.   H.    SIGOURXEY. 

Go  to  thy  rest,  my  child ! 

Go  to  thy  dreamless  bed, 
Gentle  and  undefiled, 

With  blessings  on  thy  head  ; 
Fresh  roses  in  thy  hand, 

Buds  on  thy  pillow  laid, 
Haste  from  this  fearful  land, 

Where  flowers  so  quickly  fade. 

Before  thy  heart  might  learn 

In  waywardness  to  stray, 
Before  thy  foot  could  turn 

The  dark  and  downward  way, 
Ere  sin  might  wound  the  breast, 

Or  sorrow  wake  the  tear, 
Rise  to  thy  home  of  rest, 

In  yon  celestial  sphere. 

Because  thy  smile  was  fair, 

Thy  lip  and  eye  so  bright, 
Because  thy  cradle  care 

Was  such  a  fond  delight, 
Shall  Love,  with  weak  embrace, 

Thy  heavenward  flight  detain  ? 
No !  Angel,  seek  thy  place 

Amid  yon  cherub  train. 


276  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 


LITTLE   CHARLIE. 

HOKATIO  ALGER,  JR. 

A  violet  grew  by  the  river-side, 

And  gladdened  all  hearts  with  its  bloom ; 
While  over  the  fields,  on  the  scented  air, 

It  breathed  a  rich  perfume. 
But  the  clouds  grew  dark  in  the  angry  sky, 

And  its  portals'  were  opened  wide  ; 
And  the  heavy  rain  beat  down  the  flower 

That  grew  by  the  river-side. 

Not  far  away,  in  a  pleasant  home, 

There  lived  a  little  boy, 
Whose  cheerful  face  and  childish  grace 

Filled  every  heart  with  joy. 
He  wandered  one  day  to  the  river's  verge, 

With  no  one  near  to  save ; 
And  the  heart  that  we  loved  with  a  boundless  love 

Was  stilled  in  the  restless  wave. 

The  sky  grew  dark  to  our  tearful  eyes, 

And  we  bade  farewell  to  joy  ; 
For  our  hearts  were  bound  by  a  sorrowful  tie 

To  the  grave  of  the  little  boy. 
The  birds  still  sing  in  the  leafy  tree 

That  shadows  the  open  door  ; 
We  heed  them  not,  for  we  think  of  the  voice 

That  we  shall  hear  no  more. 


to  j.  s.  "27? 

We  think  of  him  at  eventide, 
And  craze  on  his  vacant  chair 

o 

With  a  longing  heart,  that  will  scarce  believe 

That  Charlie  is  not  there. 
We  seem  to  hear  his  ringing  laugh, 

And  his  bounding  step  at  the  door  ; 
But  alas !  there  comes  the  sorrowful  thought,  — 

We  shall  never  hear  them  more ! 

We  shall  walk  sometimes  to  his  little  grave, 

In  the  pleasant  summer  hours  ; 
We  will  speak  his  name  in  a  softened  voice, 

And  cover  his  grave  with  flowers  ; 
We  will  think  of  him  in  his  heavenly  home,  — 

His  heavenly  home  so  fair ; 
And  we  will  trust  with  a  hopeful  trust 

That  we  shall  meet  him  there. 


TO  J.  S. 


AVILLIAM    W.    STOKY. 


"  Better  is  the  sight  of  the  eyes,  than  the  wandering  oi  the  desire." 
-  Ecclesiastes  vi.  9. 

I  yield  thee  unto  higher  spheres ; 

I  bend  my  head  and  say,  "  Thy  will, 
Not  mine,  be  done,"  though  bitter  tears 

The  while  mine  eyelids  fill. 

24 


278  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

I  know  thou  hast  escaped  the  blight 
That  wilts  us  here,  and  entered  now 

To  perfect  day,  —  though  in  the  night 
Bereft  of  thee  we  bow. 

And  yet  thy  little  sunny  life 
Was  beautiful  as  it  was  brief; 

It  was  not  vexed  by  pain  or  strife, 
It  knew  but  little  grief. 

The  sunshine  from  our  house  is  gone, 
And  from  our  hearts  their  peace  and  joy  ; 

We  feel  so  terribly  alone 
Without  thee,  dearest  boy  ! 

Thou  mad'st  us  feel  how  very  fair 

God's  earth  could  be,  and  taught  us  love ; 

And  in  life's  tapestry  of  care 
A  golden  figure  wove. 

Brave  as  we  will  our  hearts  to  bear, 
Grief  will  not  wholly  be  denied ; 

The  ineffectual  dikes  we  rear 
Go  down  before  its  tide. 

We  lie  all  prostrate,  —  cannot  feel 
God's  love  ;  we  only  cry  aloud, 

"  O  God!  O  God!"  for  all  things  reel, 
And  God  hides  in  a  cloud. 


to  j.  s.  279 

We  blindly  wail,  for  we  are  maimed 

Beyond  repair,  until  at  last 
He  lifts  us  up, —  all  bleeding,  lamed, 

And  shattered  by  the  blast. 

He  asks,  "  And  would  you  wish  him  back, 
Whom  I  have  taken  to  my  joy,  — 

Drag  downward  to  life's  narrow  track 
Your  little  spirit  boy  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  ! "  the  spirit  makes  reply,  — 
"  Not  back  to  earthly  chance  and  pain  "  ; 

u  Yet  ah  ! "  the  shattered  senses  cry, 
"  Would  he  were  here  again ! " 

He  was  so  meshed  within  our  love 
That  all  our  heart-strings  bleeding  lie, 

And  all  fond  hopes  we  round  him  wove 
Are  now  but  agony. 

Yet  let  us  suffer ;  he  is  freed, 

And  on  our  tears  a  bridge  of  light 

Is  built  by  God,  his  steps  to  lead 
To  joys  beyond  our  sight. 


280  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 


LITTLE  HERBERT. 

MRS.   S.   F.    CLAPP. 

Gather  all  his  playthings  up ; 
We  shall  never  see  them  more, 
From  his  dimpled,  dainty  hands, 
Wildly  thrown  about  the  floor. 

He  is  weary  of  them  all, 
Cares  no  more  with  them  to  play ; 
Leaving  them,  he  hallows  them : 
Lay  them  lovingly  away. 

He  hath  heard  the  words  of  blessing, 
Bidding  little  children,  "  Come  "  ; 
Earthly  love  cannot  detain  him 
Longer  from  his  heavenly  home. 

Fold  his  little  snowy  hands 
Lay  them  gently  on  his  breast ; 
Now  he  lieth  still  and  calm, — 
Vision  fair  of  perfect  rest. 

Bless  him  in  his  beauty  there,  — 
Bless  his  solemn  slumber  deep  ; 
"  God's  beloved,"  early  crowned 
With  the  mystic  sign  of  "  sleep."  * 

*  "  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 


LITTLE    HERBERT. 

Oft  we  prayed  that  angels  might 
Keep  their  watch  about  his  bed  : 
We  can  trust  their  vigils  now  ; 
They  will  guard  our  infant  dead. 

While  the  silence  in  the  house 
Speaketh  to  us  of  our  grief, 
We  will  thank  our  God,  who  gave 
Only  for  a  season  brief. 

Mild  and  winning  were  his  ways ; 
Very  happy  seemed  he  here ; 
Bright  the  sunshine  that  he  brought 
With  him  from  the  upper  sphere. 

One  brief  year  he  blest  our  home, 
Filled  our  hearts  with  light  and  love, 
Added  to  our  lives  a  joy 
That  can  never  more  remove. 

All  his  grace  and  innocence 
Hath  increased  our  being's  store  ; 
What  God  giveth  once  is  ours,  — 
Ours,  with  him,  for  evermore. 

Now,  a  little  hand  is  pointing 
Heavenward,  as  we  journey  on  ; 
May  it  guide  us,  and  receive  us, 
When  our  earthly  work  is  done  ! 

24* 


281 


282  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 


THE    LENT  JEWELS. 

A    JEWISH    TALE. 
B.   C.   TRENCH. 

In  schools  of  wisdom  all  the  day  was  spent : 
His  steps  at  eve  the  Rabbi  homeward  bent, 
With  homeward  thoughts  which  dwelt  upon  the 

wife 
And  two  fair  children  who  consoled  his  life. 
She,  meeting  at  the  threshold,  led  him  in, 
And,  with  these  words  preventing,  did  begin  :  — 
"  Ever  rejoicing  at  your  wished  return, 
Yet  am  I  most  so  now  :  for  since  this  morn 
I  have  been  much  perplexed  and  sorely  tried 
Upon  one  point  which  you  shall  now  decide. 
Some  years  ago,  a  friend  into  my  care 
Some  jewels  gave, —  rich,  precious  gems  they 

were  ; 
But  having  given  them  in  my  charge,  this  friend 
Did  afterward  nor  come  for  them,  nor  send, 
But  left  them  in  my  keeping  for  so  long, 
That  now  it  almost  seems  to  me  a  wrong 
That  he  should  suddenly  arrive  to-day, 
To  take  those  jewels,  which  he  left,  away. 
What  think  you  ?  Shall  1  freely  yield  them  back, 
And  with  no  murmuring,  —  so  henceforth  to  lack 
Those  gems  myself,  which  I  had  learned  to  see 
Almost  as  mine  for  ever,  mine  in  fee  ?  " 


FROM    "  ISOBEl/s    CHILD."  283 

u  What  question  can  be  here  ?  Your  own  true 
heart 
Must  needs  advise  you  of  the  only  part: 
That  may  be  claimed  again  which  was  but  lent, 
And  should  be  yielded  with  no  discontent. 
Nor  surely  can  we  find  herein  a  wrong, 
That  it  was  left  us  to  enjoy  so  long." 

"  Good  is  the  word,"  she  answered ;  "  may  we 

now 
And  evermore  that  it  is  good  allow !  " 
And,  rising,  to  an  inner  chamber  led, 
And  there  she  showed  him,  stretched  upon  one 

bed, 
Two  children  pale  :  and  he  the  jewels  knew, 
Which  God  had  lent  him,  and  resumed  anew. 


FROM  "ISOBEI/S   CHILD. 


MRS.    E.    B.   BROWNING. 


O  mother,  mother !  loose  thy  prayer  ! 
Christ's  name  hath  made  it  strong ! 
It  bindeth  me,  it  holdeth  me 
With  its  most  loving  cruelty, 


284  death:  and  immortality. 

From  floating  my  new  soul  along 

The  happy  heavenly  air  ! 
It  bindeth  me,  it  holdeth  me 
In  all  this  dark,  upon  this  dull 
Low  earth,  by  only  weepers  trod ! 
It  bindeth  me,  it  holdeth  me  ! 
Mine  angel  looketh  sorrowful 

Upon  the  face  of  God. 

"  Mother,  mother  !  can  I  dream 

Beneath  your  earthly  trees  ? 

I  had  a  vision  and  a  gleam,  — 

I  heard  a  sound  more  sweet  than  these 

When  rippled  by  the  wind. 
Did  you  see  the  Dove,  with  wings 
Bathed  in  golden  glisterings 
From  a  sunless  light  behind, 
Dropping  on  me  from  the  sky, 
Soft  as  a  mother's  kiss,  until 
I  seemed  to  leap,  and  yet  was  still  ? 
Saw  you  how  his  love-large  eye 
Looked  upon  me  mystic  calms, 
Till  the  power  of  his  divine 
Vision  was  indrawn  to  mine  ? 

"  O  the  dream  within  the  dream  ! 
I  saw  celestial  places  even. 
O  the  vistas  of  high  palms, 
Making  fin  ires  of  delight 


FROM    "  ISOBEL'S    CHILD."  2SG 

Though  the  heavenly  infinite,  — 
Lifting  up  their  green,  still  tops 

To  the  heaven  of  Heaven ! 
O  the  sweet  life-tree  that  drops 
Shade  like  light  across  the  river 
Glorified  in  its  for  ever 

Flowing  from  the  Throne  \ 
O  the  shining  holinesses 
Of  the  thousand,  thousand  faces 
God-sunned  by  the  throned  One  ! 
And  made  intense  with  such  a  love, 
That,  though  I  saw  them  turned  above, 
Each,  loving,  seemed  for  also  me ! 
And,  O  the  Unspeakable!  the  He, 
The  manifest  in  secrecies, 
Yet  of  mine  own  heart  partaker ! 
With  the  overcoming  look 
Of  one  who  hath  been  once  forsook, 

And  blesseth  the  forsaker. 
Mother,  mother  !  let  me  go 
Toward  the  face  that  looketh  so. 
Through  the  mystic,  winged  Four, 
Whose  are  inward,  outward  eyes 
Dark  with  light  of  mysteries,  — 
And  the  restless  evermore 
"  Holy,  holy,  holy,"  —  through 
The  sevenfold  Lamps  that  burn  in  view 
Of  cherubim  and  seraphim; 
Through  the  four  and  twenty  crowned 


286  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Stately  elders,  white  around, — 
Suffer  me  to  go  to  Him ! 

"  Is  your  wisdom  very  wise, 
Mother,  on  the  narrow  earth? 
Very  happy,  very  worth 
That  I  should  stay  to  learn  ? 
Are  these  air-corrupting  sighs 
Fashioned  by  unlearned  breath  ? 
Do  the  students'  lamps  that  burn 
All  night,  illumine  death  ? 
Mother,  albeit  this  be  so, 
Loose  thy  prayer  and  let  me  go 
Where  that  bright  chief  angel  stands 
Apart  from  all  his  brother  bands, 
Too  glad  for  smiling ;  having  bent 
In  angelic  wilderment 
O'er  the  depths  of  God,  and  brought 
Reeling  thence  one  only  thought 
To  fill  his  whole  eternity. 
He  the  teacher  is  for  me ! 
He  can  teach  what  I  would  know  ;  — 
Mother,  mother,  let  me  go  ! 

"  Can  your  poet  make  an  Eden 

No  winter  will  undo  ? 
And  light  a  starry  fire,  while  heeding 

His  hearth's  is  burning  too  ? 
Drown  in  music  the  earth's  din, 


FROM    u  I30BEL\S    CHILD."  287 

And  keep  his  own  wild  soul  within 
The  law  of  his  own  harmony  ? 

Mother,  albeit  this  be  so 
Let  me  to  my  Heaven  go ! 
A  little  harp  me  waits  thereby,  — 
A  harp  whose  strings  are  golden  all, 
And  tuned  to  music  spherical, 
Hanging  on  the  green  life-tree, 
Where  no  willows  ever  be. 
Shall  I  miss  that  harp  of  mine  ? 
Mother,  no  !  —  the  Eye  divine 
Turned  upon  it,  makes  it  shine,  — 
And  when  I  touch  it,  poems  sweet 
Like  separate  souls  shall  fly  from  it, 
Each  to  an  immortal  fytte. 
We  shall  all  be  poets  there, 
Gazing  on  the  chiefest  Fair! 

"  And  love !  earth's  love  !  and  can  we  love 
Fixedly  where  all  things  move  ? 
Can  the  sinning  love  each  other  ? 

Mother,  mother ! 
I  tremble  in  thy  close  embrace, — 
I  feel  thy  tears  adown  my  face,  — 
Thy  prayers  do  keep  me  out  of  bliss,  — 

O  dreary  earthly  love  ! 
Loose  thy  prayer,  and  let  me  go 
To  the  place  which  loving  is, 
Yet  not  sad !  and  when  is  given 


288  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Escape  to  thee  from  this  below, 
Thou  shalt  behold  me  that  I  wait 
For  thee  beside  the  happy  gate ; 
And  silence  shall  be  up  in  heaven 
To  hear  our  meeting  kiss." 

The  nurse  awakes  in  the  morning  sun, 
And  starts  to  see  beside  her  bed 
The  lady,  with  a  grandeur  spread, 
Like  pathos,  o'er  her  face,  as  one 
God-satisfied  and  earth-undone :  — 
The  babe  upon  her  arm  was  dead ! 
And  the  nurse  could  utter  forth  no  cry,  — 
She  was  awed  by  the  calm  in  the  mother's  eye. 

"  Wake,  nurse ! "  the  lady  said  ; 
"  We  are  waking,  —  he  and  I,  — 
I  on  earth,  and  he  in  sky  ! 
And  thou  must  help  me  to  o'erlay 
With  garment  white  this  little  clay, 
Which  needs  no  more  our  lullaby. 

"  I  changed  the  cruel  prayer  I  made, 

And  bowed  my  meekened  face,  and  prayed 

That  God  would  do  his  will !  and  thus 

He  did  it,  nurse  :  He  parted  us. 

And  His  sun  shows  victorious 

The  dead,  calm  face ;  and  /  am  calm : 

And  Heaven  is  hearkening  a  new  psalm. 


FROM    "  ISOBEL'S    CHILD." 

This  earthly  noise  is  too  anear, 
Too  loud,  and  will  not  let  me  hear 
The  little  harp.     My  death  will  soon 
Make  silence." 

And  a  sense  of  tune, 
A  satisfied  love,  meanwhile, 
Which  nothing  earthly  could  despoil, 
Sang  on  within  her  soul. 

O  you, 
Earth's  tender  and  impassioned  few, 
Take  courage  to  intrust  your  love 
To  Him  so  Named,  who  guards  above 

Its  ends,  and  shall  fulfil ; 
Breaking  the  narrow  prayers  that  may 
Befit  your  narrow  hearts,  away 

In  His  broad,  loving  will. 


25 


290  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

THE  INFANT   SPIRIT'S  PRAYER. 

LINES   ADDRESSED   TO   A   LADY   WHO   HAD   LOST   HER 
HUSBAND   AND   CHILD. 

ANONYMOUS. 

"  In  heaven  their  angels  do  always  behold  the  face  of  my  Father." 

Silence  filled  the  courts  of  heaven,  hushed  were 

angel  harp  and  tone, 
While  a  little  new-born  spirit  knelt  before  the 

Eternal  throne. 
As  his  small  white  hands  were  lifted,  clasped  as 

if  in  earnest  prayer, 
And  his  voice  in  low,  sweet  murmurs  rose  like 

music  on  the  air, 
Light  from  the  full  fount  of  glory  on  his  robes 

of  whiteness  glistened, 
And  the  bright-winged  seraphs  round  him  bowed 

their  radiant  heads  and  listened. 

"  Lord,  from  thy  world  of  glory  here, 

My  heart  turns  fondly  to  another : 
O  Lord,  our  God !  the  Comforter, 

Comfort,  comfort  my  sweet  mother ! 
Many  sorrows  hast  thou  sent  her, 

Meekly  hath  she  drained  the  cup, 
And  the  jewels  thou  hast  lent  her, 

Unrepining,  yielded  up : 
Comfort,  comfort  my  sweet  mother ! 


THE    INFANT    SPIRIT^    PRAYER.  291 

"  Earth  is  growing  lonely  round  her, 

Friend  and  lover  hast  thou  taken ; 
Let  her  not,  though  clouds  surround  her, 

Feel  herself  by  thee  forsaken. 
Let  her  think,  while  faint  and  weary, 

We  are  waiting  for  her  here ; 
Let  each  thought  that  makes  earth  dreary 

Make  the  thought  of  heaven  more  dear. 

"  Saviour,  thou,  in  nature  human, 

Dwelt  on  earth  a  little  child, 
Pillowed  on  the  breast  of  woman, 

Blessed  Mary,  undefiled. 
Thou,  who  from  thy  cross  of  suffering 

Viewed  thy  mother's  tearful  face, 
And  bequeathed  her  to  thy  loved  one, 

Bidding  him  to  fill  thy  place, 
Comfort,  comfort  my  sweet  mother ! 

"  Thou,  who,  from  the  heavens  descending, 

Tears  and  woes  and  suffering  won ; 
Thou,  who,  nature's  laws  suspending, 

Gave  the  widow  back  her  son ; 
Thou,  who  at  the  grave  of  Lazarus 

Wept  with  those  who  wept  their  dead ; 
Thou,  who  once  in  mortal  anguish 

Bowed  thine  own  anointed  head,  — 
Comfort,  comfort  my  sweet  mother ! " 


292  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

The  dove-like  murmur  died  away  upon  the  even- 
ing air, 
Yet  still  the  little  suppliant  knelt,  with  hands  still 

clasped  in  prayer, 
Still  were  the  softly-pleading  eyes  turned  to  the 

sapphire  throne, 
While  angel  harp  and  angel  voice  rang  out  in 

mingling  tone ; 
And  as  the  choral  numbers  swelled  by  angel 

voices  given, 
High,  loud,  and  clear  the  anthem  rolled  through 

all  the  courts  of  Heaven. 
"  He  is  the  widow's  God,"  it  said,  "  who  spared 

not  his  own  Son." 
The  infant  spirit  bowed  its  head,  —  "  Thy  will, 

O  God,  be  done!" 


RESIGNATION. 


II.   TV.   LONGFELLOW. 


There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there ! 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 

But  has  one  vacant  chair ! 


RESIGNATION.  293 

The  air  is  full  of  farewells  to  the  dying, 

And  mournings  for  the  dead  ; 
The  heart  of  Rachel,  for  her  children  crying, 

Will  not  be  comforted ! 

Let  us  be  patient !     These  severe  afflictions 

Not  from  the  ground  arise, 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 

Assume  this  dark  disguise. 

We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors ; 

Amid  these  earthly  damps, 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers 

May  be  heaven's  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  Death  !    What  seems  so  is  transition ; 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  elysian, 

Whose  portal  we  call  Death. 

She  is  not  dead,  —  the  child  of  our  affection, — 

But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection, 

And  Christ  himself  doth  rule. 

In  that  great  cloister's  stillness  and  seclusion, 

By  guardian  angels  led, 
Safe  from  temptation,  safe  from  sin's  pollution, 

She  lives  whom  we  call  dead. 

25* 


294  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Day  after  day  we  think  what  she  is  doing 

In  those  bright  realms  of  air ; 
Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pursuing, 

Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 

Thus  do  we  walk  with  her,  and  keep  unbroken 

The  bond  which  nature  gives, 
Thinking  that  our  remembrance,  though  unspoken, 

May  reach  her  where  she  lives. 

Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again  behold  her ; 

For  when  with  raptures  wild 
In  our  embraces  we  again  enfold  her, 

She  will  not  be  a  child ; 

But  a  fair  maiden,  in  her  Father's  mansion, 

Clothed  with  celestial  grace  ; 
And  beautiful  with  all  the  soul's  expansion 

Shall  we  behold  her  face. 

And  though  at  times,  impetuous  with  emotion 

And  anguish  long  suppressed, 
The  swelling  heart  heaves  moaning  like  the  ocean, 

That  cannot  be  at  rest,  — 

We  will  be  patient,  and  assuage  the  feeling 

We  may  not  wholly  stay ; 
By  silence  sanctifying,  not  concealing, 

The  grief  that  must  have  way. 


LINES    TO    A    BEREAVED    PARENT.  295 


LINES  TO   A  BEREAVED  PARENT. 

MRS.    MARIA   LOWELL. 

When  on  my  car  your  loss  was  knelled, 
And  tender  sympathy  upburst, 

A  little  rill  from  memory  swelled, 

Which  once  had  soothed  my  bitter  thirst. 

And  I  was  fain  to  bear  to  you 
Some  portion  of  its  mild  relief, 

That  it  might  be  as  healing  dew 
To  steal  some  fever  from  your  grief. 

After  our  child's  untroubled  breath 
Up  to  the  Father  took  its  way, 

And  on  our  home  the  shade  of  death 
Like  a  long  twilight  haunting  lay, 

And  friends  came  round  with  us  to  weep 

Her  little  spirit's  swift  remove, 
This  story  of  the  Alpine  sheep 

Was  told  to  us  by  one  we  love :  — 

"  They,  in  the  valley's  sheltering  care, 
Soon  crop  the  meadow's  tender  prime, 

And  when  the  sod  grows  brown  and  bare, 
The  shepherd  strives  to  make  them  climb 


296  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

"  To  airy  shelves  of  pastures  green, 
That  hang  along  the  mountain's  side, 

Where  grass  and  flowers  together  lean, 

And  down  through  mist  the  sunbeams  slide. 

"  But  naught  can  tempt  the  timid  things 
That  steep  and  rugged  path  to  try, 

Though  sweet  the  shepherd  calls  and  sings, 
And  seared  below  the  pastures  lie, — 

"  Till  in  his  arms  their  lambs  he  takes, 

Along  the  dizzy  verge  to  go, 
Then,  heedless  of  the  lifts  and  breaks, 

They  follow  on  o'er  rocks  and  snow. 

"  And  in  those  pastures  lifted  fair, 
More  dewy  soft  than  lowland  mead, 

The  shepherd  drops  his  tender  care, 
And  sheep  and  lambs  together  feed." 

This  parable,  by  nature  breathed, 
Blew  on  me  as  the  south-wind  free 

O'er  frozen  brooks  that  float  unsheathed 
From  icy  thraldom  to  the  sea. 

A  blissful  vision  through  the  night 
Would  all  my  happy  senses  sway, 

Of  the  good  shepherd  on  the  height, 
Or  climbing  up  the  stony  way, 


BEREAVEMENT.  297 


Holding  our  little  lamb  asleep  ; 

And,  like  the  burden  of  the  sea, 
Sounded  that  voice  along  the  deep, 

Saying,  "  Arise  and  follow  me  !  " 


BEREAVEMENT. 

KEDLE.  —  LYRA  LNNOCEXTILTtf. 

"  The  Lord  gave  Job  twice  as  much  as  he  had  before." 

I  marked  when  vernal  meads  were  bright. 
And  many  a  primrose  smiled, 

I  marked  her,  bright  as  morning  light, 
A  dimpled  three  years'  child. 

A  basket  on  one  tender  arm 

Contained  her  precious  store 
Of  spring-flowers  in  their  freshest  charm, 

Told  proudly  o'er  and  o'er. 

The  other  wound  with  earnest  hold 

About  her  blooming  guide, 
A  maid  who  scarce  twelve  years  had  told  : 

So  walked  they  side  by  side. 

One  a  bright  bud,  and  one  might  seem 
A  sister  flower  half  blown. 


298  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Full  joyous  on  their  loving  dream 
The  sky  of  April  shone. 

The  summer  months  swept  by  :   again 

That  loving  pair  I  met. 
On  russet  heath,  and  bowery  lane. 

The  autumnal  sun  had  set, 

And  chill  and  damp  that  Sunday  eve 
Breathed  on  the  mourners'  road, 

That  bright-eyed  little  one  to  leave 
Safe  in  the  saints'  abode. 

Behind,  the  guardian  sister  came, 

Her  bright  brow  dim  and  pale :  — 
O  cheer  thee,  maiden  !  in  His  name 


Thou  mourn'st  to  miss  the  fingers  soft 

That  held  by  thine  so  fast, 
The  fond  appealing  eye,  full  oft 

Toward  thee  for  refuge  cast. 


Sweet  toils,  sweet  cares,  for  ever  gone  ! 

No  more  from  stranger's  face, 
Or  startling  sound,  the  timid  one 

Shall  hide  in  thine  embrace. 


Thy  first  glad  earthly  task  is  o'er, 
And  dreary  seems  thy  way ; 


DEATH    OF    THE    NEW-BAPTIZED.  299 

But  what  if  nearer  than  before 
She  watch  thee  even  to-day  ? 

What  if  henceforth,  by  Heaven's  decree. 

She  leave  thee  not  alone, 
But  in  her  turn  prove  guide  to  thee 

In  ways  to  angels  known  ? 

O  yield  thee  to  her  whisperings  sweet : 

Away  with  thoughts  of  gloom  ! 
In  love  the  loving  spirits  greet, 

Who  wait  to  bless  her  tomb. 

In  loving  hope  with  her  unseen 

Walk  as  in  hallowed  air. 
When  foes  are  strong,  and  trials  keen, 

Think,  «  What  if  she  be  there  ?  n 


DEATH   OF   THE  NEW-BAPTIZED. 

KEBLE.  —  LYRA  IXNOCEXTIUM. 

What  purer,  brighter  sight  on  earth,  than  when 
The  sun  looks  down  upon  a  drop  of  dew, 

Hid  in  some  nook  from  all  but  angels'  ken, 
And  with  his  radiance  bathes  it  through  and 
through, 


300  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 


Then  into  realms  too  clear  for  our  frail  view 
Exhales  and  draws  it  with  absorbing  love  ? 

And  what  if  Heaven  therein  give  token  true 
Of  grace  that  new-born  dying  infants  prove, 
Just  touched  with  Jesus'  light,  then  lost  in  joys 
above  ? 


ON  THE  DEATH   OF   A  BEAUTIFUL   GIRL. 


MES.   E.    L.    FOLLEX. 


The  young,  the  lovely,  pass  away, 

Ne'er  to  be  seen  again  ; 
Earth's  fairest  flowers  too  soon  decay, 

Its  blasted  trees  remain. 


Full  oft  we  see  the  brightest  thing 

That  lifts  its  head  on  high 
Smile  in  the  light,  then  droop  its  wing, 

And  fade  away  and  die. 


And  kindly  is  the  lesson  given ; 

Then  dry  the  falling  tear : 
They  came  to  raise  our  hearts  to  heaven, 

They  go  to  call  us  there. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY.    301 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY. 

S.   G.   BULFIXCII. 

Alas,  sweet  maid!  hast  thou  so  soon  departed  ? 

Thou  of  the  bright  smile  and  the  speaking  eye, 
The  good,  the  cheerful,  and  the  gentle-hearted,  — 

Who  could  have  thought  that  thou  so  soon 
shouldst  die  ? 

To  die  so  young,  when  all  -was  bright  before  thee, 

When  fond  affection   strewed   thy  path  with 

flowers ! 

Who  could  have  thought  so  dark  a  doom  was 

o'er  thee, 

Fair  being,  formed  for  life's  most  radiant  hours  ? 

How  shall  we   miss  thee  where  thy  voice  was 
heard ! 
How,  where   thy  smile   hath   shed   its   light 
around ! 
And  where  we  listened  to  the  holy  word, 

Dear  friend,  with  thee,  on  yonder  hallowed 
ground ! 

Yes  ;  in  the  hour  of  happiness,  a  sigh, 

Sweet  girl!  shall  witness  that  thou  still  art 
near ; 

26 


302  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

And  many  a  season,  as  it  hastens  by, 
Shall  bid  the  past  in  vivid  light  appear. 

But  there  are  those  who  mourn  thee  with  a  deep, 
A  heavier  sorrow  than  't  is  ours  to  know,  — 

They  who  in  childhood  watched  thy  tranquil  sleep, 
And  smoothed  the  pillow  for  thy  brow  of  snow. 

Friends  of  the  orphan !  He  who  gave  your  treasure 
Has  taken  to  himself  the  boon  he  gave ; 

The  pure,  the  gentle  one,  it  was  his  pleasure 
From  earth's  dark  sufferings  early  thus  to  save. 

Lament  her  not !  There,  where  her  lovely  spirit 
Abides,  she  glows  with  other  thoughts  than  ours. 

Not  all  that  earth's  most  favored  ones  inherit 
Could  win  her  now  to  leave  those  heavenly 
bowers. 

There  may  we  join  her,  Father!  when  the  day 

Of  duty  and  of  trial  here  is  done  ; 
When  earthly  hope  and  fear  have  passed  away, 

And  the  bright  morn  of  endless  life  begun. 


303 


THE  DYING  HEBREWS   PRAYER. 


ANONYMOUS. 


A  Hebrew  knelt  in  the  dying  light : 

His  eye  was  dim  and  cold, 
The  hairs  on  his  brow  were  silver  white, 

And  his  blood  was  thin  and  old ! 
He  lifted  his  looks  to  his  latest  sun, 

For  he  knew  that  his  pilgrimage  was  done ; 
And  as  he  saw  God's  shadow  there, 

His  spirit  poured  itself  in  prayer. 

u  I  come  unto  death's  second  birth, 

Beneath  a  stranger  air, 
A  pilgrim  on  a  dull,  cold  earth, 

As  all  my  fathers  were  ! 
And  men  have  stamped  me  with  a  curse,  — 

I  feel  it  is  not  Thine  ; 
Thy  mercy,  like  yon  sun,  was  made 

On  me  —  as  them  —  to  shine  ; 
And  therefore  dare  I  lift  mine  eye, 

Through  that,  to  Thee,  before  I  die. 

';  In  this  great  temple,  built  by  Thee, 

Whose  altars  are  divine, 
Beneath  yon  lamp  that  ceaselessly 

Lights  up  thine  own  true  shrine, 


304  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

0  take  my  latest  sacrifice ! 
Look  down,  and  make  this  sod 

Holy  as  that  where,  long  ago, 
The  Hebrew  met  his  God ! 

"  I  have  not  caused  the  widow's  tears, 
Nor  dimmed  the  orphan's  eye, 

1  have  not  stained  the  virgin's  years, 

Nor  mocked  the  mourner's  cry  : 
The  songs  of  Zion  in  mine  ear 

Have  ever  been  most  sweet, 
And  always,  when  I  felt  Thee  near, 

My  '  shoes  '  were  '  off  my  feet ' ! 

"  I  have  known  Thee  in  the  whirlwind, 

I  have  known  Thee  on  the  hill, 
I  have  loved  Thee  in  the  voice  of  birds, 

Or  the  music  of  the  rill ! 
I  dreamt  Thee  in  the  shadow, 

I  saw  Thee  in  the  light, 
I  heard  Thee  in  the  thunder-peal, 

And  worshipped  in  the  night ! 
All  beauty,  while  it  spoke  of  Thee, 

Still  made  my  soul  rejoice, 
And  my  spirit  bowed  within  itself, 

To  hear  thy  '  still,  small  voice ' ! 
I  have  not  felt  myself  a  thing 

Far  from  thy  presence  driven, 
By  flaming  sword  or  waving  wing 

Shut  out  from  Thee  and  heaven  ! 


the  dying  Hebrew's  prater.         305 

u  Must  I  the  whirlwind  reap,  because 

My  father  sowed  the  storm  ? 
Or  shrink  —  because  another  sinned  — 

Beneath  Thy  red  right  arm  ? 
O,  much  of  this  we  daily  scan, 

And  much  is  all  unknown ; 
But  I  will  not  take  my  curse  from  man, 

I  turn  to  Thee  alone  ! 
O,  bid  my  fainting  spirit  live, 

And  what  is  dark  reveal, 
And  what  is  evil,  O  forgive ! 

And  what  is  broken,  heal ; 
And  cleanse  my  nature,  from  above, 
In  the  deep  Jordan  of  thy  love. 

"  I  know  not  if  the  Christian's  heaven 

Shall  be  the  same  as  mine  ; 
I  only  ask  to  be  forgiven, 

And  taken  home  to  thine  ! 
I  wander  on  a  far,  dim  strand, 

Whose  mansions  are  as  tombs, 
And  long  to  find  the  fatherland, 

Where  there  are  many  homes !  — 
O,  grant,  of  all  yon  starry  thrones, 

Some  dim  and  distant  star, 
Where  Judah's  lost  and  scattered  sons 

May  love  Thee  from  afar ! 
Where  all  earth's  myriad  harps  shall  meet 

In  choral  praise  and  prayer, 

26* 


306  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Shall  Zion's  harps  —  of  old  so  sweet  — 

Alone  be  wanting  there  ? 
Yet  place  me  in  thy  lower  seat, 

Though  I  —  as  now  —  be,  there, 
The  Christian's  scorn,  the  Christian's  jest ; 

But  let  me  see  and  hear, 
From  some  dim  mansion  in  the  sky, 
Thy  bright  ones,  and  their  melody !  " 

The  sun  goes  down  with  sudden  gleam; 
And  beautiful  as  a  lovely  dream, 

And  silently  as  air, 
The  vision  of  a  dark-eyed  girl, 

With  long  and  raven  hair, 
Glides  in  as  guardian  spirits  glide, 
And  lo  !  is  kneeling  by  his  side, 
As  if  her  sudden  presence  there 
Were  sent  in  answer  to  his  prayer  ! 
(O,  say  they  not  that  angels  tread 
Around  the  good  man's  dying  bed  ? ) 
His  child,  his  sweet  and  sinless  child ! 

And  as  he  gazed  on  her, 
He  knew  his  God  was  reconciled, 

And  this  the  messenger, 
As  sure  as  God  had  hung  on  high 
The  promise-bow  before  his  eye  ! 
Earth's  purest  hope  thus  o'er  him  flung 

To  point  his  heavenward  faith, 


THE    BURIAL    AT    BE  A.  307 


And  life's  most  holy  feeling  strung 

To  sins:  him  unto  death  ! 
And  on  his  daughter's  stainless  breast 
The  dying  Hebrew  found  his  rest. 


THE  BURIAL  AT   SEA. 


CIIAltLMS   SPUAGUE. 


Spare  him  one  little  week,  Almighty  Power ! 
Yield  to  his  father's  house  his  dying  hour ; 
Once  more,  once  more  let  them  who  hold  him  dear 
But  see  his  face,  his  faltering  voice  but  hear; 
We  know,  alas!  that  he  is  marked  for  death, 
But  let  his  mother  watch  his  parting  breath ; 
O,  let  him  die  at  home! 

It  could  not  be  ! 
At  midnight,  on  a  dark  and  stormy  sea, 
Far  from  his  kindred  and  his  native  land, 
His  pangs  unsoothed  by  tender  woman's  hand, 
The  patient  victim  in  his  cabin  lay, 
And  meekly  breathed  his  blameless  life  away. 
***** 

Wrapped  in  the  raiment  that  it  long  must  wear. 
His  body  to  the  deck  they  slowly  bear ; 


308  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

How  eloquent,  how  awful  in  its  power, 
The  silent  lecture  of  death's  Sabbath-hour  ! 
One  voice  that  silence  breaks, — the  prayer  is  said, 
And  the  last  rite  man  pays  to  man  is  paid ; 
The  flashing  waters  mark  his  resting-place, 
And  fold  him  round  in  one  long,  cold  embrace  ; 
Bright  bubbles  for  a  moment  sparkle  o'er, 
Then  break,  to  be,  like  him,  beheld  no  more ; 
Down,  countless  fathoms  down,  he  sinks  to  sleep, 
With  all  the  nameless  shapes  that  haunt  the  deep. 

Rest,  loved  one,  rest,  —  beneath  the  billow's 

swell, 
Where  tongue  ne'er  spoke,  where  sunlight  never 

feU; 
Rest,  —  till  the  God  who  gave  thee  to  the  deep 
Rouse  thee,  triumphant,  from  the  long,  long  sleep. 
And  you,  whose  hearts  are  bleeding,  who  deplore 
That  ye  must  see  the  wanderer's  face  no  more, 
Weep, —  he  was  worthy  of  the  purest  grief; 
Weep,  —  in  such  sorrow  ye  shall  find  relief ; 
While  o'er  his  doom  the  bitter  tear  ye  shed, 
Memory  shall  trace  the  virtues  of  the  dead  ; 
These  cannot  die,  —  for  you,  for  him,  they  bloom, 
And  scatter  fragrance  round  his  ocean  tomb. 


VERSES.  309 


VERSES 

SUGGESTED  BY  THE  DECEASE  OF  THE  REV.  MR.  WEIGHT 
OF  BOSTON,  MISSIONARY  AT  LIBERIA,  WITH  HIS  LADY, 
IX    1833  ;    BOTH   IX   THE   BLOOM   OF   YOUTH. 

B.    E.    THATCHER. 

Weep  not  for  him !     He  but  rose  to  his  rest 
From  his  own  dear  land  of  the  fervid  line, 

With  the  silvery  sheaves  of  his  dawn  all  gleaned 
Ere  bright  dews  blazoned  his  noon's  decline. 

He  shall  toil  with  tears  in  the  gloom  of  a  dim, 

Lone  harvest  no  more  :  O  weep  not  for  him  ! 

And  weep  not  for  her  !     They  have  laid  the  dust 

Of  the  early  exile  so  softly  away, 
In  the  pleasant  shade  of  the  plantain-tree, 

That  the  Judgment  Angels,  who  seek  that  day 
The  jewels  of  glory,  will  scarcely  stir 
So  sweet  a  slumber :  weep  not  for  her ! 

Weep  not !  In  the  clime  where  the  sinless  meet, 
Lingers  no  lonely  yearning  for  this,  — 

As  the  pilgrims  mourned  (and  smiled  the  while) 
In  dreams,*  o'er  the  visions  of  vanished  bliss. 

No  sorrow  enters  that  radiant  realm,  — 

No  mourning,  nor  yearning :  O  weep  not  for  them ! 


*  Alluding  to  a  passage  in  Mr.  Wright's  Journal  of  his  Voyage  to 
Liberia. 


310  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 


TO  MY  FRIEND,   ON  THE  DEATH   OF  HIS 
SISTER. 

J.    G.    WHITTIER. 

Thine  is  a  grief,  the  depth  of  which  another 

May  never  know ; 
Yet  o'er  the  waters,  O  my  stricken  brother ! 

To  thee  I  go. 

I  lean  my  heart  unto  thee,  —  sadly  folding 

Thy  hand  in  mine,  — 
With  even  the  weakness  of  my  soul  upholding 

The  strength  of  thine. 

I  never  knew,  like  thee,  the  dear  departed ; 

I  stood  not  by 
When,  in  calm  trust,  the  pure  and  tranquil-hearted 

Lay  down  to  die. 

And  on  thy  ear  my  words  of  weak  condoling 

Must  vainly  fall : 
The  funeral  bell  which  in  thy  heart  is  tolling 

Sounds  over  all! 

I  will  not  mock  thee  with  the  poor  world's  common 

And  heartless  phrase, 
Nor  wrong  the  memory  of  a  sainted  woman 

With  idle  praise. 


ON    THE    DEATH    OF    A    SISTER.  311 

With  silence  only  as  their  benediction 

God's  angels  come, 
Where  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  affliction 

The  soul  sits  dumb ! 

Yet  would  I  say  what  thy  own  heart  approveth : 

Our  Father's  will, 
Calling  to  him,  the  dear  one  whom  he  loveth, 

Is  mercy  still. 

Not  upon  thee  or  thine  the  solemn  angel 

Hath  evil  wrought : 
Her  funeral  anthem  is  a  glad  evangel 

The  good  die  not ! 

God  calls  our  loved  ones,  but  we  lose  not  wholly 

What  He  hath  given  ; 
They  live  on  earth,  in  thought  and  deed,  as  truly 

As  in  His  heaven. 

And  she  is  with  thee.     In  thy  path  of  trial 

She  walketh  yet. 
Still  with  the  baptism  of  thy  self-denial 

Her  locks  are  wet. 

Up,  then,  my  brother !    Lo,  the  fields  of  harvest 

Lie  white  in  view  ! 
She  lives  and  loves  thee,  and  the  God  thou  servest 

To  both  is  true. 


312  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Thrust  in  thy  sickle  !  —  England's  toil-worn  peas- 
ants 

Thy  call  abide ; 
And  she  thou  mourn'st,  a  pure  and  holy  presence, 

Shall  glean  beside ! 


THE  TWO  ANGELS. 


H.    ^y.    LOXGFELLOW. 


Two  angels,  one  of  Life  and  one  of  Death, 
Passed  o'er  the  village  as  the  morning  broke ; 

The  dawn  was  on  their  faces,  and  beneath, 
The  sombre  houses  hearsed  with  plumes  of 
smoke. 

Their  attitude  and  aspect  were  the  same, 

Alike  their  features  and  their  robes  of  white  ; 

But  one  was  crowned  with  amaranth,  as  with 
flame, 
And  one  with  asphodels,  like  flakes  of  light. 

I  saw  them  pause  on  their  celestial  way ; 

Then  said  I,  with  deep  fear  and  doubt  oppressed : 
"  Beat  not  so  loud,  my  heart,  lest  thou  betray 

The  place  where  thy  beloved  are  at  rest ! " 


THE    TWO    ANGELS.  313 

And  he  who  wore  the  crown  of  asphodels, 
Descending,  at  my  door  began  to  knock, 

And  my  soul  sank  within  me,  as  in  wells 

The  waters  sink  before  an  earthquake's  shock. 

I  recognized  the  nameless  agony, 

The  terror  and  the  tremor  and  the  pain, 

That  oft  before  had  filled  and  haunted  me, 
And  now  returned  with  threefold  strength  again. 

The  door  I  opened  to  my  heavenly  guest, 

And  listened,  for  I  thought  I  heard  God's  voice, 

And,  knowing  whatsoe'er  he  sent  was  best, 
Dared  neither  to  lament  nor  to  rejoice. 


Then  with  a  smile,  that  filled  the  house  with  light, 
u  My  errand  is  not  Death,  but  Life,"  he  said  ; 

And,  ere  I  answered,  passing  out  of  sight, 
On  his  celestial  embassy  he  sped. 

'T  was  at  thy  door,  O  friend!  and  not  at  mine, 
The  angel  with  the  amaranthine  wreath, 

Pausing,  descended,  and,  with  voice  divine, 
"Whispered  a  word  that  had  a  sound  like  Death. 


Then  fell  upon  the  house  a  sudden  gloom, 
A  shadow  on  those  features  fair  and  thin  ; 

And  softly,  from  that  hushed  and  darkened  room, 
Two  angels  issued,  where  but  one  went  in. 

27 


314  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

All  is  of  God !     If  he  but  wave  his  hand, 

The  mists  collect,  the  rain  falls  thick  and  loud, 

Till  with  a  smile  of  light  on  sea  and  land, 
Lo !  he  looks  back  from  the  departing  cloud. 

Angels  of  Life  and  Death  alike  are  his ; 

"Without  his  leave,  they  pass  no  threshold  o'er ; 
Who,  then,  would  wish  or  dare,  believing  this, 

Against  his  messengers  to  shut  the  door  ? 


FOLLEN. 


ON  READING  niS  ESSAY   ON  "  THE   FUTURE  STATE. 
J.   G.  WHITTIER. 

Friend  of  my  soul!  —  as  with  moist  eye 
I  look  up  from  this  page  of  thine, 

Is  it  a  dream  that  thou  art  nigh, 
Thy  mild  face  gazing  into  mine? 

That  presence  seems  before  me  now, 
A  placid  heaven  of  sweet  moonrise, 

When,  dew-like,  on  the  earth  below 
Descends  the  quiet  of  the  skies  ;  — 


FOLLEX.  oiO 

The  calm  brow  through  the  parted  hair, 
The  gentle  lips  which  knew  no  guile, 

Softening  the  blue  eye's  thoughtful  care 
With  the  bland  beauty  of  their  smile. 

Ah  me  !  —  at  times  that  last  dread  scene 
Of  Frost  and  Fire  and  moaning  Sea 

Will  cast  its  shade  of  doubt  between 
The  failing  eyes  of  Faith,  and  thee. 

Yet,  lingering  o'er  thy  charmed  page, 
Where  through  the  twilight  air  of  earth, 

Alike  enthusiast  and  sage, 

Prophet  and  bard,  thou  gazest  forth, 

Lifting  the  Future's  solemn  veil, 

The  reaching  of  a  mortal  hand 
To  put  aside  the  cold  and  pale 

Cloud-curtains  of  the  Unseen  Land ! 

In  thoughts  which  answer  to  my  own, 
In  words  which  reach  my  inward  ear, 

Like  whispers  from  the  void  Unknown, 
I  feel  thy  living  presence  here. 

The  waves  which  lull  thy  body's  rest, 
The  dust  thy  pilgrim  footsteps  trod, 

Unwasted,  through  each  change,  attest 
The  fixed  economy  of  God. 


316  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Shall  these  poor  elements  outlive 

The  mind  whose  kingly  will  they  wrought  ? 
Their  gross  unconsciousness  survive 

Thy  godlike  energy  of  thought  ? 

Thou  livest,  Follen  !  —  not  in  vain 
Hath  thy  fine  spirit  meekly  borne 

The  burden  of  Life's  cross  of  pain, 

And  the  thorned  crown  of  suffering  worn. 

Oh !  while  Life's  solemn  mystery  glooms 
Around  us  like  a  dungeon's  wall,  — 

Silent  earth's  pale  and  crowded  tombs, 
Silent  the  heaven  which  bends  o'er  all !  — 

"While  day  by  day  our  loved  ones  glide 
In  spectral  silence,  hushed  and  lone, 

To  the  cold  shadows  which  divide 

The  living  from  the  dread  Unknown  ;  — 

While  ever  on  the  closing  eye, 

And  on  the  lip  which  moves  in  vain, 

The  seals  of  that  stern  mystery 
Their  undiscovered  trust  retain  ;  — 

And  only  'midst  the  gloom  of  death, 
Its  mournful  doubts  and  haunting  fears, 

Two  pale,  sweet  angels,  Hope  and  Faith, 
Smile  dimly  on  us  through  their  tears ;  — 


FOLLEN.  -)17 


'T  is  something  to  a  heart  like  mine 
To  think  of  thee  as  living  yet ; 

To  feel  that  such  a  light  as  thine 
Could" not  in  utter  darkness  set. 


Less  dreary  seems  the  untried  way 

Since  thou  hast  left  thy  footprints  there, 

And  beams  of  mournful  beauty  play 
Round  the  sad  angel's  sable  hair. 

Oh !  at  this  hour  when  half  the  sky 
Is  glorious  with  its  evening  light, 

And  fair  broad  fields  of  summer  lie 

Hung  o'er  with  greenness  in  my  sight ;  — 

While  through  these  elm-boughs  wet  with  rain 
The  sunset's  golden  walls  are  seen, 

With  clover  bloom  and  yellow  grain 

And  wood-draped  hill  and  stream  between ; — 

I  long  to  know  if  scenes  like  this 
Are  hidden  from  an  angel's  eyes ; 

If  earth's  familiar  loveliness 

Haunts  not  thy  heaven's  serener  skies. 

For  sweetly  here  upon  thee  grew 
The  lesson  which  that  beauty  gave, 

The  ideal  of  the  Pure  and  True 
In  earth  and  sky  and  gliding  wave. 

27* 


318  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

And  it  may  be  that  all  which  lends 
The  soul  an  upward  impulse  here, 

With  a  diviner  beauty  blends, 
And  greets  us  in  a  holier  sphere. " 

Through  groves  where  blighting  never  fell, 
The  humbler  flowers  of  earth  may  twine ; 

And  simple  draughts  from  childhood's  well 
Blend  with  the  angel-tasted  wine. 

But  be  the  prying  vision  veiled, 

And  let  the  seeking  lips  be  dumb,  — 

"Where  even  seraph  eyes  have  failed, 
Shall  mortal  blindness  seek  to  come  ? 

We  only  know  that  thou  hast  gone, 
And  that  the  same  returnless  tide 

Which  bore  thee  from  us  still  glides  on, 
And  we  who  mourn  thee  with  it  glide. 

On  all  thou  lookest  we  shall  look, 
And  to  our  gaze  erelong  shall  turn 

That  page  of  God's  mysterious  book 
We  so  much  wish,  yet  dread,  to  learn. 

With  Him,  before  whose  awful  power 
Thy  spirit  bent  its  trembling  knee,  — 

Who,  in  the  silent  greeting  flower, 
And  forest  leaf,  looked  out  on  thee,  — 


LINES    ON    C1IANNING.  319 

We  leave  thee,  with  a  trust  serene 

Which  Time,  nor  Change,  nor  Death  can  move, 
While  with  thy  childlike  faith  we  lean 

On  Him  whose  dearest  name  is  Love  ! 


LINES  ON   CIIAKNTXG. 

MRS.   L.   J.   HALL. 

When  sinks  the  sun,  shall  we  forget 
That  but  to  us  his  beams  are  set  ? 
When  holy  spirits  pass  away, 
Shall  we  but  weep  o'er  feeble  clay  ? 

With  aspirations  like  thine  own, 
Pure  being,  whom  we  dare  not  mourn, 
O  let  us  mark,  where  dwells  "  no  night," 
A  new-born,  active,  burning  light. 

Shine  on  for  ever,  tranquil  star ! 
Though  in  far  heaven  thy  glories  are, 
Their  solemn  beams  shall  from  this  hour 
Fall  on  our  souls  with  added  power. 

Each  thrilling  cadence,  each  mild  word 
Of  love  or  wisdom  we  have  heard, 
From  gifted  lips  now  still  and  cold, 
Shall  be  imbued  with  power  untold. 


320  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Go,  Christian  sage  !     Death  now  hath  wrought 
On  pages  glowing  with  thy  thought ; 
Death,  who  hath  calmed  all  pain,  hath  sealed 
Thy  power  on  earth, —  and  heaven  revealed. 


DEATH. 


WRITTEN  AFTER  READING  DR.  BRAZER'S  SERMON  ON  THE 
DEATH  OF  HONORABLE  LEVERETT  SALTONSTALL. 

C.  J.  FOX. 

And  is  this  death  ?     His  suffering  o'er, 

Is  this  but  lifeless  clay  ? 
Stands  the  freed  soul  before  the  throne 
Of  endless  day  ? 

O  human  life  !  mysterious  soul ! 

Breath  of  the  living  God  ! 
Its  frame  has  now  an  angel's  power, 
Is  now  a  clod ! 

So  calm  he  lived,  without  complaint, 

We  scarce  could  think  him  ill ; 
And  the  same  look  he  wore  in  life 
Is  on  him  still. 


A    DEATH-BED.  321 

His  heart  replete  with  Christian  grace 

Found  joy  in  suffering  ; 

To  him  the  grave  no  victory  had, 

And  death  no  sting. 

May  I  so  live,  that,  when  I  feel 

Death  knocking  at  my  heart, 
My  faith  may  bid  all  fear  "  Be  still ! n 
As  I  depart. 


A  DEATH-BED. 


JAMES  ALDEICH. 


Her  suffering  ended  with  the  day, 

Yet  lived  she  at  its  close, 
And  breathed  the  long,  long  night  away, 

In  statue-like  repose. 

But  when  the  sun,  in  all  his  state, 

Illumed  the  eastern  skies, 
She  passed  through  glory's  morning  gate, 

And  walked  in  Paradise ! 


322  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

THE  MARTYRDOM   OF  PERPETUA. 
A.  D.  202. 

S.   G.   BULFIXCH. 

There  sat  within  a  dungeon's  gloom 

A  female  form  of  mournful  grace. 
Thoughts  of  her  stern  approaching  doom 

Had  driven  the  rose-tint  from  her  face. 
Yet  not  for  that,  amid  her  woe, 

Did  her  high  heart  its  faith  resign ; 
And  that  pale  cheek  at  times  would  glow 

With  light,  whose  glory  was  divine. 

They  came,  the  dear  ones  of  her  hearth, 

To  whom  her  earthly  love  was  given ; 
They  strove  to  win  again  to  earth 

The  spirit,  ready  now  for  heaven. 
Husband  and  sister  sued  in  vain, 

In  vain,  though  burning  tears  replied ; 
To  love  she  gave  those  drops  of  pain, 

Triumphant  over  all  beside. 

Her  aged  father  came  and  knelt, 

Bowed  his  white  locks  before  his  child ; 

And  the  sad  daughter  deeply  felt, 

Yet  through  her  tears  looked  up  and  smiled. 

They  brought  her  infant ;  as  he  lay 
Before  her,  in  his  slumber  fair, 


THE    MARTYRDOM    OF    PERPETIA.  323 

Almost  the  mother's  heart  gave  way, 
But  God  had  heard  his  martyr's  prayer. 

Her  strength  arose.     "  My  child  shall  be 

Safe  in  thy  sheltering  care,  my  God ! 
I  give  him,  this  sad  hour,  to  thee  : 

And  when  this  dreadful  path  is  trod, 
May  I  not  hope  in  robes  of  light 

To  hover  o'er  his  slumbering  head, 
And  o'er  my  father's  locks  of  white 

A  spirit-daughter's  blessing  shed  ?  " 

She  died  ;  that  spirit,  calm  and  high, 

Sustained  her  through  the  dreadful  hour ; 
She  died  as  those  alone  can  die 

Whom  faith  in  God  has  girt  with  power. 
To  her  own  fearless  heart,  her  hand 

Guided  the  gladiator's  sword. 
Yet,  through  their  grief,  the  Christian  band 

That  night  the  hymn  of  triumph  poured. 

The  pure,  the  faithful,  was  at  rest ; 

For  her  a  glorious  crown  was  won, 
And  now  in  mansions  of  the  blest 

On  that  fair  brow  for  ever  shone. 
And  courage  rose  to  meet  their  death 

In  those  the  Christians'  path  who  trod  ; 
And,  won  by  her  undaunted  faith, 

A  thousand  heathen  turned  to  God. 


324  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

SONNET. 

1    COEEN'THIAXS    XV. 
GEORGE  LUST. 

O  fool,  to  judge  that  He  who  from  the  earth 
Created  man,  cannot  his  form  restore ! 
The  scattered  elements  from  every  shore 

Call  back  and  clothe  with  a  celestial  birth ! 

See  from  its  sheath  the  buried  seed  break  forth 
Blade,  stalk,  leaf,  bud,  and  now  the  perfect 

flower, 
Changing  and  yet  the  same,  and  of  His  power 

A  token  each  ;  and  art  thou  counted  worth 

Less  than  the  meanest  herb  ?     Changed  from  the 
dust, 
And  little  lower  than  the  angels  made, 
More  changed  by  sin,  to  death  itself  betrayed, 

Yet  heir  of  heaven  by  an  immortal  trust. 

Doubter  unwise,  in  reason's  narrow  school, 

Well  might  the  great  Apostle  say,  "  Thou  fool!*' 


A    FUNERAL    SONG.  325 

A  FUNERAL   SONG. 

FROM   <;  TIIE   FUNERAL   DAY   OF    SIR   WALTER    SCOTT." 

MRS.    HEMAXS. 

Lowly  and  solemn  be 
Thy  children's  cry  to  thee, 

Father  divine ! 
A  hymn  of  suppliant  breath, 
Owning  that  life  and  death 

Alike  are  thine ! 

A  spirit  on  its  way 
Sceptred  the  earth  to  swTay 

From  thee  was  sent : 
Now  call'st  thou  back  thine  own, — 
Hence  is  that  radiance  flown, 

To  earth  but  lent. 

Watching  in  breathless  awe, 
The  bright  head  bowed  we  saw 

Beneath  thy  hand ! 
Filled  by  one  hope,  one  fear, 
Now  o'er  a  brother's  bier 

AVecping  we  stand. 

How  hath  he  passed,  —  the  lord 
Of  each  deep  bosom  chord,  — 
To  meet  thy  sight ! 

23 


326  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY 

Unmantled  and  alone. 


On  thy  blest  mercy  thrown, 
O  Infinite ! 

So  from  his  harvest  home 
Must  the  tired  peasant  come ; 

So,  in  one  trust, 
Leader  and  king  must  yield 
The  naked  soul,  revealed 

To  thee,  All  Just! 

The  sword  of  many  a  fight, — 
"What  then  shall  be  its  might  ? 

The  lofty  lay 
That  rushed  on  eagle  wing,  — 
What  shall  its  memory  bring  ? 

What  hope,  what  stay  ? 

O  Father !  in  that  hour, 

When  earth  all  succoring  power 

Shall  disavow,  — 
When  spear,  and  shield,  and  crown 
In  faintness  are  cast  down,  — 

Sustain  us,  Thou ! 

By  Him  who  bowed  to  take 
The  death-cup  for  our  sake, 

The  thorn,  the  rod,  — 
From  whom  the  last  dismay 
Was  not  to  pass  away,  — 

Aid  us,  O  God ! 


THE  ANGEL  BY  THE  TOMB.        327 

Tremblers  beside  the  grave, 
We  call  on  thee  to  save, 

Father  divine ! 
Hear,  hear  our  suppliant  breath, 
Keep  us,  in  life  and  death, 

Thine,  only  thine ! 


THE  AXGEL  BY  THE  TOMB. 


SARAH   F.   ADAMS. 


The  mourners  came  at  break  of  day 

Unto  the  garden  sepulchre, 
With  darkened  hearts,  to  weep  and  pray 
For  Him,  the  loved  one  buried  there. 
What  radiant  light  dispels  the  gloom  ? 
An  angel  sits  beside  the  tomb. 

The  Earth  doth  mourn  her  treasures  lost, 

All  sepulchred  beneath  the  snow, 
When  wintry  winds  and  chilling  frost 
Have  laid  her  summer  glories  low : 

The  spring  returns,  the  flowerets  bloom, 
An  angel  sits  beside  the  tomb. 

Then  mourn  we  not  beloved  dead  ; 

E'en  while  we  come  to  weep  and  pray, 


328  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

The  happy  spirit  far  hath  fled, 

To  brighter  realms  of  endless  day  : 
Immortal  Hope  dispels  the  gloom ! 
An  angel  sits  beside  the  tomb. 


THE  PAUPER'S  DEATH-BED. 

MRS.   CAROLINE  BOWLES   SOUTHEY. 

Tread  softly !  bow  the  head,  — 
In  reverent  silence  bow ! 

No  passing-bell  doth  toll, 

Yet  an  immortal  soul 
Is  passing  now. 

Stranger !  however  great, 
With  lowly  reverence  bow ; 

There  's  one  in  that  poor  shed,  — 

One  by  that  paltry  bed, 
Greater  than  thou. 

Beneath  that  beggar's  roof, 

Lo !  Death  doth  keep  his  state  ; 

Enter,  —  no  crowds  attend  ; 

Enter,  —  no  guards  defend 
This  palace  gate. 


THE  PAUPER'S  DEATH-BED.  329 

That  pavement,  damp  and  cold, 

No  smiling  corn-tiers  tread  ; 
One  silent  woman  stands, 
Lifting  with  meagre  hands 

A  dying  head. 

No  mingling  voices  sound,  — 

An  infant  wail  alone  ; 
A  sob  suppressed,  —  again 
That  short,  deep  gasp,  —  and  then 

The  parting  groan ! 

O  change !  O  wondrous  change  ! 

Burst  are  the  prison  bars ! 
This  moment  there,  so  low, 
So  agonized,  and  now 

Beyond  the  stars ! 

O  change !  stupendous  change ! 

There  lies  the  soulless  clod : 
The  sun  eternal  breaks, 
The  new  immortal  wakes,  — 

Wakes  with  his  God. 


28* 


330  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

THE  PRESENCE   OF  THE  DEPARTED. 

HIRAM  WITHINGTOX. 

"  Are  they  not  all  ministering  spirits  ?  " 

The  sainted  dead !  think  you  they  linger  not, 

Nor  e'er  to  this  lone  world  return  again  ? 
Say,  do  they  not  revisit  each  loved  spot 

Whose  sight  doth  waken  such  a  thrilling 

strain 
Within  our  longing  hearts  ?    O,  not  in  vain 
They  came  and  went !   nor  severed  are  those 
ties 
That  bound  them  to  this  life  of  joy  and  pain : 
They  come,  —  they  come,  —  and  bid  our  spirits 
rise, 
And   dwell   in   peace   with   them,  beneath   the 
heavenly  sides ! 

They  are  about  us ;  —  as  when  Israel's  flight 

God's  spirit  guided  through  the  desert's  sand, 
In  cloud  by  day  and  fiery  lamp  by  night, 
And  led  in  safety  to  the  promised  land,  — 
So  round  our  path  these  guardian  spirits 
stand, 
To  shield  us  'mid  temptation's  fiery  heat ; 

In  sorrow's  night  to  take  us  by  the  hand, 
And  lead  us  gently  to  that  mercy-seat 
Whence  comes  celestial  light  to  guide  our  wan- 
dering feet. 


THE    PRESEN'CE    OF    THE    DEPARTED.  331 

They  come,  where,  in    life's   weary   hours  of 
care, 
The    fainting   heart  is   burdened,  tempted, 
tried ; 
Bringing  from  heaven  the  strength  to  do  and 
bear, 
The  Father's  pitying  mercy  hath  supplied ; 
Beneath  our  roof  at  evening  they  abide, 
Like  angel-guests  whom  Abraham  fed  of  yore, 
Through  the  night's  stillness  watching  by 

our  side, 
Giving  us  visions  of  the  world  before,  — 
That  world  of  tranquil  rest  where  partings  come 
no  more. 


God's  ministers,  they  watch  each  step  of  ours, 
loved 
smiled 


The  loved  and  lost  that  on  life's  morning 


Amidst  our  sleeping  and  unconscious  hours, 
They  speak  within   our  hearts  in   accents 

mild; 
And,  as  a  mother  soothes  her  fretful  child, 
With  words  of  strength  and  peace  our  souls 
they  cheer : 
O,  could  Ave  calm  our  earthly  passions  wild, 
And  see  this  spirit-host  for  ever  near, 
We  ne'er  could  feel  that  all  alone  we  wander 
here ! 


DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

"CALL  THEM  FROM   THE  DEAD." 

AV.    J.    FOX. 

Call  them  from  the  dead 

For  our  eyes  to  see  : 
Prophet-bards,  whose  awful  word 
Shook  the  earth,  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord/' 

And  made  the  idols  flee  ;  — 
A  glorious  company ! 

Call  them  from  the  dead 

For  our  eyes  to  see  : 
Sons  of  wisdom,  song,  and  power, 
Giving  earth  her  richest  dower, 

And  making  nations  free  ;  — 
A  glorious  company ! 

Call  them  from  the  dead 

For  our  eyes  to  see  : 
Forms  of  beauty,  love,  and  grace, 
"  Sunshine  in  the  shady  place," 

That  made  it  life  to  be  ;  — 
A  blessed  company ! 

Call  them  from  the  dead,  — 

Vain  the  call  will  be  ; 
But  the  hand  of  Death  shall  lay, 
Like  that  of  Christ,  its  healing  clay 

On  eyes  which  then  shall  see 
That  glorious  company ! 


IT    18    TOLD    ME    I    MUST  DIE."  333 


"IT  IS  TOLD  ME  I  MUST  DIE 

"WRITTEN  BY  RICHARD    LANGH0RNE,  BEFORE    HIS    EXECU- 
TION, UPON  AX  UNJUST    CHARGE   OF  TREASON,   IX    THE 

REIGN   OF    CHARLES    THE    SECOND. 

sakgent's  selection. 

It  is  told  me  I  must  die  : 
O  happy  news  ! 
Be  glad,  O  my  soul, 
And  rejoice  in  Jesus,  the  Saviour ! 
If  he  intended  thy  perdition 
Would  he  have  laid  down  his  life  for  thee  ? 
Would  he  have  called  thee  with  so  much  love, 
And  illuminated  thee  with  the  light  of  the  Spirit? 

Would  he  have  given  thee  his  cross, 
And  given  thee  shoulders  to  bear  it  with  patience? 

It  is  told  me  I  must  die  : 

O  happy  news  ! 
Come  on,  my  dearest  soul ! 

Behold,  thy  Jesus  calls  thee  ! 
He  prayed  for  thee  upon  his  cross  ; 
There  he  extended  his  arms  to  receive  thee ; 
There  he  bowed  down  his  head  to  kiss  thee  ; 
There  he  opened  his  heart  to  give  thee  entrance ; 
There  he  gave  up  his  life  to  purchase  life  for  thee. 

It  is  told  me  I  must  die  : 
O  what  happiness ! 


334  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

I  am  going 
To  the  place  of  my  rest ; 
To  the  land  of  the  living ; 
To  the  haven  of  security ; 
To  the  kingdom  of  peace ; 
To  the  palace  of  my  God  ; 
To  the  nuptials  of  the  Lamb  ; 
To  sit  at  the  table  of  my  King ; 
To  feed  on  the  bread  of  angels  ; 
To  see  what  no  eye  hath  seen ; 
To  hear  what  no  ear  hath  heard  ; 
To  enjoy  what  the  heart  of  man  cannot  compre- 
hend. 

O  my  Father ! 
O  thou  best  of  all  fathers, 
Have  pity  on  the  most  wretched  of  all  thy  chil- 
dren ! 
I  was  lost,  but  by  thy  mercy  found ; 
I  was  dead,  but  by  thy  grace  am  now  raised 
again ; 
I  was  gone  astray  after  vanity, 
But  I  am  now  ready  to  appear  before  thee, 

O  my  Father ! 
Come,  now,  in  mercy,  and  receive  thy  child ! 
Give  him  thy  kiss  of  peace  ; 
Remit  unto  him  all  his  sins ; 
Clothe  him  with  thy  nuptial  robe ; 
Permit  him  to  have  a  place  at  thy  feast ; 
And  forgive  all  those  who  are  guilty  of  his  death. 


FOR  COMFORT  IX  DEATH.         335 


FOR   COMFORT  IN   DEATH. 


In  the  hour  of  my  distress, 
When  temptations  me  oppress, 
And  when  I  my  sins  confess, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  I  lie  within  my  bed, 
Sick  in  heart,  and  sick  in  head, 
And  with  doubts  disquieted, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  house  doth  sigh  and  weep, 
And  the  world  is  drowned  in  sleep, 
Yet  mine  eyes  the  watch  do  keep, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  the  passing-bell  doth  toll, 
And  the  Furies,  in  a  shoal, 
Come  to  fright  my  parting  soul, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When,  God  knows,  I  'm  tost  about, 
Either  with  despair  or  doubt,  — 
Yet  before  the  glass  be  out, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 


336  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

When  the  Tempter  me  pursu'th 
With  the  sins  of  all  my  youth, 
And  half  damns  me  with  untruth, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  the  judgment  is  revealed, 
And  that  opened  which  was  sealed, 
When  to  Thee  I  have  appealed, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 


DAYS   OF  MY  YOUTH. 


ST.   GEORGE  TUCKER. 


Days  of  my  youth,  ye  have  glided  away ; 
Hairs  of  my  youth,  ye  are  frosted  and  gray  ; 
Eyes  of  my  youth,  your  keen  sight  is  no  more ; 
Cheeks  of  my  youth,  ye  are  furrowed  all  o'er ; 
Strength  of  my  youth,  all  your  vigor  is  gone ; 
Thoughts  of  my  youth,  your  gay  visions  are  flown. 

Days  of  my  youth,  I  wish  not  your  recall ; 
Hairs  of  my  youth,  I  'm  content  ye  should  fall ; 
Eyes  of  my  youth,   ye  much  evil  have  seen  ; 
Cheeks  of  my  youth,  bathed  in  tears  ye  have  been; 
Thoughts  of  my  youth,  ye  have  led  me  astray  ; 
Strength  of  my  youth,  why  lament  your  decay  ? 


FAREWELL    TO    LIFB.  337 

Days  of  my  age,  ye  will  shortly  be  past ; 
Pains  of  my  age,  yet  awhile  can  ye  last  ; 
Joys  of  my  age,  in  true  wisdom  delight ; 
Eyes  of  my  age,  be  religion  your  light ; 
Thoughts  of  my  age,  dread  ye  not  the  cold  sod ; 
Hopes  of  my  age,  be  ye  fixed  on  your  God. 


FAREWELL  TO  LIFE. 

LINES  WRITTEN  BY  HORNER,  WHEN  HE  LAY  DANGEROUS- 
LY WOUNDED  AND  IIELFLESS,  IN  A  FOREST,  EXPECT- 
ING   TO    DIE. 

TRANSLATED    BY   DR.    FOLLEX. 

This  smarting  wound,  —  these  lips  so  pale  and 
chill!  — 

My  heart,  with  faint  and  fainter  beating,  says, 

I  stand  upon  the  borders  of  my  days. 
Amen  !  my  God,  I  own  thy  holy  will. 
The  golden  dreams,  that  once  my  soul  did  fill, 

The  songs  of  mirth,  become  sepulchral  lays. 

Faith !  faith  !    That  truth  which  all  my  spirit 
sways, 
Yonder,  as  here,  must  live  within  me  still. 
And  what  I  held  as  sacred  here  below, 
AVhat  I  embraced  with  quick  and  youthful  glow, 

29 


338  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Whether  I  called  it  liberty,  or  love, 

A  seraph  bright  I  see  it  stand  above  ; 

And  as  my  senses  slowly  pass  away, 

A  breath  transports  me  to  the  realms  of  day. 


A  POET'S  DYING  HYMN. 

3IRS.   HEMANS. 

Be  mute  who  will,  who  can, 
Yet  I  will  praise  Thee  with  impassioned  voice ! 
Me  didst  thou  constitute  a  priest  of  thine 
In  such  a  temple  as  we  now  behold, 
Reared  for  thy  presence ;  therefore  am  I  bound 
To  worship,  here  and  everywhere. 

Wordsworth. 

The  blue,  deep,  glorious  heavens  !  I  lift  my  eye, 
And  bless  thee,  O  my  God !  that  I  have  met 

And  owned  thine  image  in  the  majesty 

Of  their  calm  temple  still !  —  that  never  yet 

There  hath  thy  face  been  shrouded  from  my  sight 

By  noontide  blaze,  or  sweeping  storm  of  night,  — 
I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

That  now  still  clearer,  from  their  pure  expanse, 
I  see  the  mercy  of  thine  aspect  shine, 

Touching  death's  features  with  a  lovely  glance 
Of  light,  serenely,  solemnly  divine, 


a  poet's  dying  hymn. 

And  lending  to  each  holy  star  a  ray 
As  of  kind  eyes,  that  woo  my  soul  away,  — 
I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

That  I  have  heard  thy  voice,  nor  been  afraid, 
In  the  earth's  garden,  —  'midst  the  mountains 
old, 
And  the  low  thrillings  of  the  forest  shade, 

And  the  wild  sounds  of  waters  uncontrolled, 
And  upon  many  a  desert  plain  and  shore,  — 
No  solitude,  for  there  I  felt  Thee  more,  — 
I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

And  if  thy  spirit  on  thy  child  hath  shed 
The  gift,  the  vision  of  the  unsealed  eye, 

To  pierce  the  mist  o'er  life's  deep  meanings  spread, 
To  reach  the  hidden  fountain  urns  that  lie 

Far  in  man's  heart,  —  if  I  have  kept  it  free 

And  pure,  a  consecration  unto  thee,  — 

I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

If  my  soul's  utterance  hath  by  thee  been  fraught 
With  an  awakening  power, — if  thou  hast  made 
Like   the   winged   seed   the   breathings   of  my 
thought, 
And  by  the  swift  winds  bid  them  be  conveyed 
To  lands  of  other  lays,  and  there  become 
Native  as  early  melodies  of  home,  — 

I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 


340  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Not  for  the  brightness  of  a  mortal  wreath, 
Nor  for  a  place  'midst  kingly  minstrels  dead, 

But  that  perchance  a  faint  gale  of  thy  breath, 
A  still,  small  whisper  in  my  song,  hath  led 

One  struggling  spirit  upwards  to  thy  throne, 

Or  but  one  hope,  one  prayer,  —  for  this  alone 
I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

That  I  have  loved,  — that  I  have  known  the  love 
Which  troubles  in  the  soul  the  tearful  springs, 

Yet  with  a  coloring  halo  from  above 
Tinges  and  glorifies  all  earthly  things, 

Whate'er  its  anguish  or  its  woe  may  be, 

Still  weaving  links  for  intercourse  with  thee,  — 
I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

That  by  the  passion  of  its  deep  distress, 

And  by  the  o'erflowing  of  its  mighty  prayer, 

And  by  the  yearning  of  its  tenderness, 

Too  full  for  words  upon  their  stream  to  bear, 

I  have  been  drawn  still  closer  to  thy  shrine, 

Well-spring  of  love,  the  unfathomed,  the  divine  ; 
I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

That  hope  hath  ne'er  my  heart  or  song  forsaken, 
High  hope,  which  e'en  from  mystery,  doubt,  or 
dread, 

Calmly,  rejoicingly,  the  things  hath  taken 

Whereby  its  torchlight  for  the  race  was  fed, — 


a  poet's  dying  hymn.  341 

That  passing  storms  have  only  fanned  the  fire 
Which  pierced  them  still  with  its  triumphant 
spire, — 

I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

Now  art  thou  calling  me  in  every  gale, 

Each  sound  and  token  of  the  dying  day ; 
Thou  leavest  me  not,  though  early  life  grows 
pale; 
I  am  not  darkly  sinking  to  decay ; 
But  hour  by  hour,  my  soul's  dissolving  shroud 
Melts  off  to  radiance,  as  a  silvery  cloud. 

I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

And  if  this  earth,  with  all  its  choral  streams, 
And  crowning  woods,  and  soft  or  solemn  skies, 

And  mountain  sanctuaries  for  poet's  dreams, 
Be  lovely  still  in  my  departing  eyes, — 

'Tis  not  that  fondly  I  would  linger  here, 

But  that  thy  footprints  on  its  dust  appear. 
I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

And  that  the  tender  shadowing  I  behold, 
The  tracery  veining  every  leaf  and  flower, 

Of  glories  cast  in  more  consummate  mould, 
No  longer  vassals  to  the  changeful  hour,  — 

That  life's  last  roses  to  my  thoughts  can  bring 

Rich  visions  of  imperishable  spring,  — 

I  bless  thee,  O  my  God. 

29* 


342  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

Yes  !  the  young  vernal  voices  in  the  skies 

Woo  me  not  back,  but,  wandering  past  mine 
ear, 
Seem  heralds  of  the  eternal  melodies, 

The  spirit-music,  imperturbed  and  clear ; 
The  full  of  soul,  yet  passionate  no  more,  — 
Let  me  too,  joining  those  pure  strains,  adore! 
I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 

Now  aid,  sustain  me  still !  —  to  thee  I  come. 

Make  thou  my  dwelling  where  thy  children  are ; 
And  for  the  hope  of  that  immortal  home, 

And  for  thy  Son,  the  bright  and  morning  star, 
The  sufferer  and  the  victor-king  of  death, 
I  bless  thee  with  my  glad  song's  dying  breath ! 
I  bless  thee,  O  my  God ! 


«  LIVING  OR  DYING,  LORD,  I  WOULD  BE  THINE." 

PARAPHRASED  FROM  FEXELON. 

Living  or  dying,  Lord,  I  would  be  thine! 

0  what  is  life  ? 
A  toil,  a  strife, 

Were  it  not  lighted  by  thy  love  divine. 

1  ask  not  wealth, — 

I  crave  not  health,  — 
Living  or  dying,  Lord,  I  would  be  thine ! 


on .  341 

O  what  is  death  ? 

When  the  poor  breath 
In  parting  can  the  soul  to  thee  resign  ; 

While  patient  love 

Her  trust  doth  prove. 
Living  or  dying,  Lord,  I  would  be  thine  ! 

Throughout  my  days, 

Be  constant  praise 
Uplift  to  thee  from  out  this  heart  of  mine  : 

So  shall  I  be 

Brought  nearer  thee. 
Living  or  dying,  Lord,  I  would  be  thine  ! 


ON 

R.     It     MILXES. 


Gently  supported  on  the  ready  aid 

Of  loving  hands,  whose  little  work  of  toil 

Her  grateful  prodigality  repaid 

With  all  the  benediction  of  her  smile, 

She  turned  her  failing  feet 

To  the  soft- pillowed  seat, 

Dispensing  kindly  greetings  all  the  while. 

Before  the  tranquil  beauty  of  her  face 
I  bowed  in  spirit,  thinking  that  she  were 


344  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

A  suffering  Angel,  whom  the  special  grace 

Of  God  intrusted  to  our  pious  care, 

That  we  might  learn  from  her 

The  art  to  minister 

To  heavenly  beings  in  seraphic  air. 

There  seemed  to  lie  a  weight  upon  her  brain 

That  ever  pressed  her  blue-veined  eyelids  down, 

But  could  not  dim  her  lustrous  eyes  with  pain, 

Nor  seam  her  forehead  with  the  faintest  frown  : 

She  was  as  she  were  proud, 

So  young,  to  be  allowed 

To  follow  Him  who  wore  the  thorny  crown. 

Nor  was  she  sad,  but  over  every  mood 

To  which  her  lightly-pliant  mind  gave  birth, 

Gracefully  changing,  did  a  spirit  brood 

Of  quiet  gayety  and  serenest  mirth  ; 

And  thus  her  voice  did  flow 

So  beautifully  low, 

A  stream  whose  music  was  no  thing  of  earth. 

Now  long  that  instrument  has  ceased  to  sound, 

Now  long  that  gracious  form  in  earth  has  lain 

Tended  by  nature  only,  and  unwound 

Are  all  those  mingled  threads  of  love  and  pain ; 

So  let  me  weep,  and  bend 

My  head  and  wait  the  end, 

Knowing  that  God  creates  not  thus  in  vain. 


FRAGMENT.  345 


FRAGMENT  FOUND  IN   A   SKELETON-CASE. 

ANONYMOUS. 

Behold  this  ruin !  't  is  a  skull, 

Once  of  ethereal  spirit  full. 

This  narrow  cell  was  life's  retreat ; 

This  space  was  thought's  mysterious  seat. 

What  beauteous  pictures  filled  this  spot ! 

What  dreams  of  pleasure,  long  forgot! 

Nor  grief  nor  joy,  nor  hope  nor  fear, 

Has  left  one  trace  or  record  here  ! 

Beneath  this  mouldering  canopy 

Once  shone  the  bright  and  busy  eye. 

Yet  start  not  at  that  dismal  void : 

If  social  love  that  eye  employed, 

If  with  no  lawless  fire  it  gleamed, 

But  with  the  dew  of  kindness  beamed, 

That  eye  shall  be  for  ever  bright 

When  stars  and  suns  have  lost  their  light. 

Here,  in  this  silent  cavern,  hung 

The  ready,  swift,  and  tuneful  tongue. 

If  falsehood's  honey  it  disdained, 

And,  where  it  could  not  praise,  was  chained, 

If  bold  in  virtue's  cause  it  spoke, 

Yet  gentle  concord  never  broke, 


346  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY. 

That  tuneful  tongue  shall  plead  for  thee 
When  death  unveils  eternity  ! 

Say,  did  these  fingers  delve  the  mine 
Or  with  its  envied  rubies  shine  ? 
To  hew  the  rock  or  wear  the  gem 
Can  nothing  now  avail  to  them. 
But  if  the  page  of  truth  they  sought, 
And  comfort  to  the  mourners  brought, 
These  hands  a  richer  meed  shall  claim 
Than  all  that  waits  on  wealth  or  fame  ! 

Avails  it  whether  bare  or  shod 
Those  feet  the  paths  of  duty  trod  ? 
If  from  the  bowers  of  joy  they  sped 
To  soothe  affliction's  humble  bed, 
If  grandeur's  guilty  bribe  they  spurned, 
And  home  to  virtue's  lap  returned, 
Those  feet  with  angels'  wings  shall  vie, 
And  tread  the  palace  of  the  sky ! 


317 


WIIITEFIELD'S  REMAINS.* 

.MISS   II.   F.    GOULD. 

Ye  sacred  relics,  not  with  foot  profane 
Would  I  disturb  the  quiet  of  the  dead. 

Where,  wrapped  in  shades  and  stillness,  ye  have 
lain 
Till  more  than  half  a  century  hath  fled ! 

I  have  no  vainly  curious  eye  to  see 

How  strange  the  works  of  time  and  death  ap- 
pear, — 
To  find  the  sentence  of  mortality, 

"  Ashes  to  ashes,"  executed  here. 

Yet  I  from  infancy  have  longed  to  look, 
For  once,  on  you,  then  bid  a  long  farewell ; 

Since  't  was  from  you  great  Whitefield's  spirit 
took 
Her  flight  to  mansions  where  the  blessed  dwell ! 

Ye  were  her  earthen  vessel !  —  and  ye  bore 
That  goodly  treasure  on,  from  clime  to  clime  ! 

Ye  were  the  fine-wrought  texture  that  she  wore, 
And  gently  dropped,  as  closed  the  scene  of 
time. 


*  Deposited  beneath  the  pulpit  of  the  First  Presbyterian  Church 
in  Newburyport,  Mass. 


348  DEATH    AND    IMMORTALITY 


Here,  hallowed  dust !  thou  still  hast  slumbered  on, 
While  o'er  thy  rest  the  beauteous  feet  of  those 

Who  brought  salvation's  news  have  stood,  then 
gone, 
Tired  with  life's  journey,  to  the  grave's  jepose. 


And  wilt  thou  linger  yet,  till  he  who  stands 
Above  thee  now,  the  Gospel  to  proclaim, 

Has  ceased  to  lift  in  prayer  his  holy  hands, 
And  monumental  marble  speaks  his  name  ? 

O  wait  not  this !  * —  but  go  and  sleep  unseen, 
Deep  in  the  bosom  of  thy  mother  earth  ! 

Let  nature  deck  thy  couch  with  living  green, 
Till,  changed,  the  archangel's  trump  shall  call 
thee  forth ! 

And  now,  farewell !  I  have  been  told  by  thee 
The  things  a  thousand  tongues  would  fail  to 
say: 
Thou  bidst  the  mortal  part  its  value  see,  — 
The  soul  mount  up  where  Whitefield's  led 
the  way ! 


*  The  removal  of  these  remains  to  the  public  burial-ground  -was 
contemplated  at  the  time  this  was  -written. 


THE    END. 


